RR 05
[005] The Chaebol Patriarch’s Birthday – Part 2
My brother and I remained silent throughout the drive to Pyeongchang-dong—me lost in thought, him stealing nervous glances my way. Our parents’ faces grew darker with every quiet minute.
What does this place mean to them?
.
.
.
1,100 pyeong (3,600 sq m) of land.
Four buildings.
50 parking spaces.
380-meter perimeter walls.
This was the fortress of Jin Yang-chul, founder and absolute ruler of Sunyang Group.
The towering walls and dense landscaping created an impenetrable stronghold. Two guards at the gate snapped to attention as our car glided through.
The sprawling garden I’d once weeded as a lowly employee came into view. Guests already mingled under the early summer sun.
The main house, white against the emerald lawn, loomed ahead.
As we walked toward it, most guests offered only cursory nods. Some deliberately turned away.
I studied their faces—future kings and queens of Korea’s economy—but recognized few. The 30-year age gap distorted features I’d known as a corporate fixer.
Identifying the inner circle will be crucial.
My heart pounded as we entered the grand foyer.
The disgraced branch of the family.
Would we be ignored? Treated like ghosts?
The living room held eight predators lounging on sofas—my uncles, aunts, and their spouses. Wolves and foxes salivating over Sunyang’s carcass.
- Jin Young-ki (eldest son)
- Jin Dong-ki (second son)
- Jin Sang-ki (third son)
- Jin Seo-yoon (only daughter)
And my father, Jin Yoon-ki, the black sheep avoiding their gazes.
The silence broke when my mother bowed deeply. “We’ve arrived.”
A shrill voice cut through: “Still playing movie star? Must we always wait for you?”
Her.
The same woman who’d fucked her boytoy in a department store fitting room—now in her 40s, still venomous. I choked back laughter.
“Pfft—”
Too late.
“Are you LAUGHING?” She sprang up, eyes bulging.
“Good evening, Grandaunt.” I bowed quickly.
“You little—”
“Enough,” Jin Young-ki snapped, but it only fueled her rage.
Then—a voice like thunder.
“Who dares raise their voice in my home?”
Every head turned to the staircase.
The Iron Mask.
Jin Yang-chul earned that nickname for his impenetrable expression—whether exiling his own brother or seizing entire industries.
Even his children froze. Their fear wasn’t of a father, but of the money he could withhold.
As he descended, I swallowed hard.
How would the emperor treat his exiled son’s family?
My parents bowed stiffly. The Chairman ignored them, barely glancing at my cowering brother.
Then his gaze landed on me.
“Ah! My little pup!” His face transformed into grandfatherly warmth. “How long has it been? Do you ignore your hal-abeoji’s invitations?”
What sorcery is this?
The man who disowned my father now cradled my face like a treasure. Before I could react, he scooped me up.
“Come! I’ve gifts for you.”
.
.
.
The “small room” he brought me to was larger than most apartments.
At its center stood a rocking horse—not some flimsy toy, but a mechanical rodeo bull with a wired base. The walls overflowed with luxury playthings.
“Well? Just like you asked!”
So the old man dotes on me.
The psychology was clear: guilt toward his exiled son, redirected to the “innocent” grandson. A living apology to himself.
Time for Test #1.
I stroked the fake horse’s mane.
“I prefer real ones, Hal-abeoji.”
His smile faltered.
“Real?”
“Real horses. Real cars that speed, not toys. Real boats that sail oceans, not bathtubs.”
The Iron Mask’s expression cracked.
“Real things… require real effort,” he said slowly. “Dangerous effort. Fake things are safer.”
“Dangerous like… dying?” I channeled childlike bluntness. “But real things are worth it, right?”
A pause. Then—laughter.
“Top grades for a year, and I’ll buy you a real horse!”
I feigned disappointment. “Only a year? I thought you’d say ‘never get less than perfect until graduation.’ One year is too easy.”
His eyebrows shot up. The old Jin Do-joon had been a mediocre student.
“Ha! Then this hal-abeoji will watch closely!” He extended his hand. “Dinner now. Play with your cousins later.”
I gripped his palm tightly—my first foothold in the empire that killed me.
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