The crisp Seoul air was a world away from the mountain's serenity. Rinwoo stood on the sidewalk, looking up at his new home: a small, clean apartment nestled right above a cozy café called "Morning Light." The café owner, a kind-eyed woman in her fifties, had just finished showing him around.
"It's not much," she'd said, "but it's yours. You take care of the café—the early opening, the late closing, the baking—and the apartment is yours, plus a salary."
Rinwoo, with no formal education but hands that remembered the comforting rhythms of baking from his childhood, had found his haven. He had bowed deeply, his heart swelling with a gratitude that was entirely his own, not tied to anyone else. "Thank you. I will not disappoint you."
And he didn't. He poured himself into the work. The pre-dawn quiet of the café became his meditation. The scent of yeast and sugar his new incense. He learned recipes, perfected his own, and the café began to gain a reputation for its delicate pastries and the quiet, gentle baker who always had a soft smile. He saved his money, not for a future someone else had planned, but for his own dreams. He enrolled in online courses, slowly earning his high school diploma. He visited museums, tried pottery classes, and on his days off, he took the train to different cities, just as he'd always wanted, a small backpack and a heart full of simple curiosity his only companions. He was, for the first time, building a life—not rebuilding from ruins, but constructing something entirely new on a foundation of his own making.
Meanwhile, the vibrant, humid air of Thailand was a welcome shock to Taemin and Juwon's system. Thanks to Mingyu's frantic connections and a hastily arranged transfer, they found themselves in a small rented apartment in Chiang Mai. It was a far cry from the Lee estate, but it was theirs. Juwon found work as a translator, his fluent English and Korean a valuable asset. Taemin, with his boundless energy, started at a local tour company, leading adventurous foreigners through jungle treks. The work was simple, the pay just enough, but it was a life built on laughter and shared meals on a tiny balcony, their hands always finding each other's. The shadow of the curse felt a million miles away, drowned out by the chatter of the city and the peace in each other's eyes.
The question of Lee Taekyun's whereabouts became a ghost story in the business world. He had vanished completely. No financial trails, no sightings. The mighty heir had simply dissolved into thin air, leaving behind a legacy of scandal and a void no one dared to fill.
In the bustling port city of Busan, the Hong family shipping company was experiencing a renaissance. Eunjae had returned home, not in defeat, but in triumph, bringing Lee Daon with him. Mr. Hong, Eunjae's father, a pragmatic and warm-hearted man, welcomed Daon not as a disgraced heir, but as a son.
Gone was the cold, imposing architecture of the Lee conglomerate. Their office overlooked the bustling docks, the air smelling of salt and possibility. Daon, freed from his father's toxic legacy, discovered a sharp, intuitive business mind he never knew he had. Eunjae, with his fiery passion and innate understanding of people, was the perfect counterpart. They worked side-by-side, not as heir and consort, but as partners. They were building something together, something that belonged to them, their arguments passionate but always ending in laughter and a shared resolve. The curse felt like a distant, foolish myth in the face of their tangible, growing happiness.
Four separate paths, once painfully intertwined, were now stretching out in different directions, each man finally grasping the reins of his own destiny, learning that a happy ending wasn't a destination you arrived at, but a life you built for yourself, one deliberate, courageous day at a time.
Two years later
The scent of sizzling bacon and freshly brewed coffee filled the sunlit apartment above "Morning Light." Two years had woven a comfortable rhythm into Rinwoo's life. He moved efficiently around the small kitchen, plating breakfast while his roommate and fellow café employee, Ji-hoon, lounged on the sofa, flipping through TV channels.
"Are you going to help set the table or just wait to be served, Your Highness?" Rinwoo asked, a fond, teasing note in his voice. The quiet, broken man from the mountain was gone, replaced by someone confident and grounded.
"In a minute, in a minute," Ji-hoon waved a dismissive hand, his eyes glued to the screen. "Just seeing if there's any— whoa! Wait!"
He suddenly sat bolt upright, turning up the volume. A serious-faced news anchor filled the screen.
"...in a shocking turn of events, the Lee conglomerate is facing total collapse following a massive corruption scandal. Stocks have plummeted after evidence surfaced of massive embezzlement and illegal offshore accounts linked directly to patriarch Lee. In a bizarre twist, it appears Mr. Lee has signed over all his remaining personal assets and holdings to his three sons and has subsequently disappeared. He was last seen at a press conference two weeks ago, where he appeared disheveled and made cryptic remarks about 'the price of legacy' before leaving the stage..."
Rinwoo froze, a spatula in his hand. The name was a ghost from a past life, a faint echo of a storm that had once consumed him.
Ji-hoon let out a low whistle. "Wow. He deserved it, the old monster. I heard rumors he was so obsessed with control he practically killed his own sons' spirits. Thank god that one son, Daon, got out in time. He's that guy running the Hong company in Busan with his husband, right? Tsk. Lucky them." He sighed dramatically, flopping back onto the cushions. "When will a handsome, rich husband sweep me off my feet and take me away from washing coffee mugs?"
The spell was broken. Rinwoo shook his head, a soft chuckle escaping him as he resumed his task. The news felt distant, like a story about people he'd never met. The sharp pang of association was gone, replaced by a quiet, detached pity.
"He's not sweeping anyone away if you don't help set the table," Rinwoo said, his voice light and steady. He carried the plates to the small dining table. "Now, stop watching that nonsense and come have breakfast before it gets cold. We have a bakery to run."
He didn't give the screen another glance. His world was here now the warm apartment, the bustling café downstairs, the friend his roommate chattering beside him, and the simple, satisfying life he had built with his own two hands. The rise and fall of the Lee empire was no longer his story to bear.
At Evening..
The night air in Seoul was cool, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves as Rinwoo took his usual evening stroll. It was a habit he'd cultivated—a quiet time to himself after a long day at the café, to breathe and just be.
That's when he saw him.
A man slumped on a park bench, his expensive-looking suit wrinkled and disheveled, head hanging low. An empty bottle of soju rested precariously next to his feet. He was the picture of utter desolation.
A familiar pang of concern, an instinct he thought he'd buried, tugged at Rinwoo's heart. He hesitated for a moment, his own peaceful life feeling suddenly fragile. But he couldn't just walk past. He approached cautiously.
"Excuse me," Rinwoo said softly, pulling a small bottle of water from his pocket. "Are you okay? Do you need some water?"
The moment the words left his lips, the man flinched as if struck. His head shot up, and the dim light from a nearby streetlamp fell on his face.
Rinwoo's breath caught in his throat.
It was Taekyun.
But it was a Taekyun he barely recognized. The cold, sharp arrogance was gone, eroded into a landscape of pure exhaustion. Dark, bruise-like circles shadowed his hollowed eyes. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and he looked thinner, weaker, as if he hadn't had a proper meal or a good night's sleep in years. He was a ghost of the man who had once groveled at his feet, now looking up at him with a gaze clouded by alcohol and a pain so deep it seemed to have physically withered him.
For a long moment, they just stared at each other, the two years between them collapsing into a single, silent, heart-stopping second. The city hummed around them, oblivious to the earthquake happening on a simple park bench.
The moment their eyes met, a jolt of pure panic seized Taekyun. This was his worst nightmare—Rinwoo, radiant and whole, seeing him in this state of absolute ruin. He scrambled to his feet, mumbling a slurred, "I'm sorry, I'll go," and tried to stagger away, to vanish back into the shadows where he belonged.
But his body, weakened by exhaustion and alcohol, betrayed him. His legs gave way, and he pitched forward.
Rinwoo's instincts took over. He dropped the water bottle and lunged, catching Taekyun just before he hit the pavement. The weight of him was familiar, yet frighteningly lighter than he remembered.
Taekyun looked up, his vision swimming. The shame was a living thing, choking him. Tears, unbidden and hot, welled in his eyes and spilled over. "I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice a raw whisper. "I didn't mean to... I wasn't following you. I'm so sorry... for coming back into your life... I'll disappear... I promise..."
The words were a dagger to Rinwoo's heart. This wasn't the desperate, possessive man from the shrine. This was a broken soul apologizing for his own existence.
Before Rinwoo could form a single word—a question, a reassurance, a curse—the last of Taekyun's strength fled. His eyes rolled back, and he went completely limp, his full weight collapsing into Rinwoo's arms.
"Taekyun!"
Rinwoo stood there for a moment, holding the unconscious man, the night air suddenly cold and sharp. His mind raced, a whirlwind of confusion, pity, and a residual, aching concern he thought was long dead. He couldn't just leave him here. The hospitals were out of the question; it would create a scene, a link back to a past he had escaped.
Looking down at the pale, tear-streaked face, Rinwoo let out a slow, resigned breath.
With a strength born of necessity, he hoisted Taekyun's arm over his shoulder and began the slow, difficult task of half-dragging, half-carrying him back to his apartment, back to the sanctuary he had built for himself, which was now, once again, being invaded by the ghost of Lee Taekyun.
Rinwoo stumbled through his apartment door, panting under Taekyun's dead weight. He had just managed to kick the door shut and was about to drag his unexpected guest towards the sofa when a figure emerged from the bathroom.
It was Jihoon, wearing a bright green face mask that contrasted violently with his wide, horrified eyes. He was clutching a tub of yogurt, a spoon frozen halfway to his mouth.
"Hyung, did you get the more milk—" he began, his voice a cheerful drawl that instantly morphed into a high-pitched shriek.
"AAAAAH! WHAT IS THAT?!"
Rinwoo jumped, nearly dropping Taekyun. "Jihoon! Don't scream!"
Jihoon's eyes, visible above the green mask, were darting between Rinwoo's strained face and the limp, well-dressed man draped over his shoulder. He took a dramatic step back, pointing the yogurt spoon accusingly.
"Is that a corpse? Did you finally snap and kill a rude customer? I told you we should have banned the one who always asks for oat milk in our perfectly good traditional tea!"
"He's not a corpse!" Rinwoo grunted, adjusting his grip. "He's just... passed out."
Jihoon crept closer, squinting. The green mask made his scrutiny look both comical and intense. "He looks familiar. Really familiar." His eyes then landed on Taekyun's face, now lolling to the side. He gasped so loudly he sucked part of the face mask into his mouth.
"SPIT! SPIT!" he gagged, pulling the mask off. His now-uncovered face was a mask of pure, unadulterated shock. "NO. WAY. Rinwoo! That's... that's the guy! The dead guy! Lee Taekyun! The one who vanished two years ago and everyone thought was, you know, sleeping with the fishes!"
He looked from the "dead" heir to his utterly flustered roommate. "Why is a billionaire corpse in our living room? And why does he smell like a distillery? Did you dig him up for a favor? What kind of favor?!"
"Jihoon, he's not dead, he's drunk," Rinwoo said, exasperated, finally maneuvering Taekyun onto the sofa. "I found him on a park bench."
Jihoon stared, his brain visibly short-circuiting. He pointed at the unconscious Taekyun, then at Rinwoo, then back at Taekyun.
"Let me get this straight," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You went for a walk. You found a missing, presumed-dead chaebol heir, drunk off his face on a public bench. And your first thought was... to bring him home? Like a lost puppy? A very, very expensive, legally complicated, and potentially cursed lost puppy?"
He threw his hands up in the air, the yogurt spoon flying and landing with a plop on the rug. "Unbelievable! This is exactly how horror movies start! Next thing you know, his evil father's goons are going to break down our door, and we're going to be on the news! 'Two Bakers and a Billionaire: A Seoul Slaughter!'"
Rinwoo sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked down at the peacefully unconscious Taekyun, completely oblivious to the dramatic storm he had just unleashed in his small, previously peaceful apartment.
With a final heave, Rinwoo managed to get Taekyun properly situated on the sofa, arranging a pillow under his head. He worked with a quiet, methodical efficiency, slipping off the expensive but scuffed leather shoes and carefully removing the suit jacket, folding it neatly over a chair. The man on his couch was a far cry from the imposing figure from his past; he was just a person, vulnerable and lost.
Jihoon, meanwhile, had recovered from his initial shock and was now leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a wicked grin spreading across his face.
"Well, well, well," he singsonged, wiggling his eyebrows. "Look at you, playing nurse to a handsome, mysterious stranger. And such a rich, handsome, mysterious stranger. Is this the start of a new K-drama? 'The Baker and the Billionaire'? I call dibs on being the sassy best friend who gets all the best lines and a spin-off."
Rinwoo didn't even look up as he draped a light blanket over Taekyun. "The only thing you're going to get is a headache if you don't finish your marketing assignment. Don't you have a 9 a.m. university class tomorrow?"
Jihoon's grin vanished, replaced by an exaggerated pout. "You're no fun, Hyung! A real-life drama unfolds in our living room, and you're worried about consumer behavior analysis?" He gestured dramatically at the unconscious Taekyun. "This is my consumer behavior analysis! Case study: The Irrational Purchasing Decisions of the Ultra-Wealthy, Exhibit A: Buying enough soju to forget you own several companies."
Rinwoo finally stood up and fixed Jihoon with a firm, no-nonsense look. He then reached out and delivered a light, familiar smack to the back of his roommate's head.
"Ow! Fine, fine!" Jihoon yelped, rubbing his head. "I'm going! But this isn't over! I want a full debrief in the morning! With visuals!" He shot one last, longing look at the sleeping chaebol on the sofa before flouncing off towards his room, muttering about "ungrateful romantics."
Finally, silence descended upon the living room, broken only by Taekyun's deep, even breaths. The dramatic energy of Jihoon faded, leaving Rinwoo alone with the ghost from his past. He pulled a chair close and sat down, simply watching the steady rise and fall of Taekyun's chest, the city lights from the window painting soft patterns across his pale, sleeping face. The peace of his apartment was gone, replaced by a heavy, complicated quiet.
Next morning..
The first thing that pierced Taekyun's consciousness was the sound of sizzling from a nearby kitchen and a throbbing, world-ending headache. He groaned, forcing his heavy eyelids open. The light was cruel. He was on a sofa, in an unfamiliar, cozy living room.
And a man with a mouth full of toothpaste foam was staring down at him.
"Mrph gllb brrth?" the man mumbled around his toothbrush, his eyes wide with curiosity.
Taekyun shot up into a sitting position, a wave of nausea and dizziness making the room spin. He clutched his head, trying to piece together the shattered fragments of the previous night. The park bench. The despair. The bottle. Then... nothing. A complete, terrifying blank.
"Who... where am I?" he rasped, his voice rough and unused.
Jihoon spat into a mug he was holding. "You're in our apartment. My roommate found you looking like a drowned, designer-suited rat on a bench last night and dragged your rich, passed-out butt up here." He leaned in, his expression turning from curious to serious. "So, what's the deal? The news says you vanished. Everyone thought you were dead. Did you fake your death? Are you on the run? Is this a witness protection thing? Did you see a crime? Ooh, did you commit a crime?"
Taekyun barely processed the rapid-fire questions. He just stared at the animated young man, his mind a fog of confusion and pain. "I... I don't... I don't remember," he whispered, the admission making him feel weak and pathetic.
Jihoon's face softened slightly. "Well, you reeked like a brewery. Must have been one hell of a night." He then gestured with his toothbrush towards the kitchen. "Anyway, my hyung's making breakfast. You should thank him. He's too nice for his own good."
Hyung.
The word sent a strange, electric jolt through Taekyun's hazy mind. He slowly, painfully, turned his head towards the kitchen.
And the world stopped.
There, bathed in the morning sun filtering through the window, stood Rinwoo. His back was to them, focused on flipping something in a pan. He was wearing a simple, soft-looking sweater, and his hair was a little longer. He looked... peaceful. Solid. Real.
It was like a punch to the gut, knocking the last bit of air from Taekyun's lungs. All the memories, the shame, the doctor's words—"his freedom begins with your absence"—came flooding back with the force of a tidal wave. He had sworn to disappear. He had tried so hard. And yet, here he was, in Rinwoo's space, polluting his sanctuary yet again.
Rinwoo must have felt the weight of his gaze. He turned around.
Their eyes met across the small room.
There was no anger in Rinwoo's eyes. No hatred. Just a quiet, unreadable calm that was somehow more devastating than any fury.
Taekyun's composure, already in tatters, completely broke. His vision blurred with sudden, hot tears. He looked down at his hands, unable to bear the sight of the happiness he had once destroyed and was now intruding upon.
Jihoon, watching the silent, intense exchange, slowly backed away, sensing this was a moment far beyond his understanding.
"I..." Taekyun's voice was a broken whisper, choked with tears. "I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to... I'll go. I'm so sorry, Rinwoo."
He tried to stand, but his legs were too weak, his body too heavy with a grief that was two years in the making. He could only sit there on the edge of the sofa, a broken man in a stranger's home, weeping in the presence of the only person he had ever loved, knowing his very existence was the greatest apology he could never properly give.
The air in the small apartment grew thick enough to choke on. Taekyun's tearful apology hung between them, a raw, bleeding thing. Rinwoo's heart was a wild, frantic drum against his ribs, a chaotic counterpoint to the calm sizzle from the pan. He could feel the weight of two years of silence, of healing, of a life painstakingly built, all threatening to collapse under the gaze of this ghost.
Then, he forced it. A small, polite, utterly detached smile that didn't reach his eyes. He tilted his head, feigning a confusion that felt like a betrayal of their entire shared history.
"Why are you apologizing, Mr. Lee?" Rinwoo asked, his voice carefully neutral, as if addressing a slightly bothersome stranger.
The effect was instantaneous and devastating.
Taekyun's head snapped up, his tear-filled eyes widening in pure, unadulterated horror. The blood drained from his face, leaving him a ghastly shade of pale. He's forgotten me. The thought was a nuclear blast in his mind, more destructive than any curse. All his pain, his regret, his very existence… it had all been erased. He was nothing. A blank space in the memory of the person who meant everything.
Jihoon, who had been watching the scene like a tense drama, let out a low sigh. He couldn't decipher the cryptic subtext, but the agony on the rich guy's face was unmistakable. "Uh, Hyung," he interjected, desperate to break the tension, "I'm gonna need you to handle the night shift tonight. I have to meet some friends. Please? You're the best!" He gave Rinwoo his most pleading look.
Rinwoo tore his gaze from the shattered man on his sofa and managed a genuine, if slightly strained, chuckle at Jihoon. "What friends? The ones who convince you to spend your entire paycheck on street food?"
"Those are the best kind of friends!" Jihoon retorted, puffing out his chest.
This easy, carefree banter was a fresh wound for Taekyun. This was Rinwoo's life now. Laughter, lighthearted roommates, simple worries about shifts and paychecks. A life without the crushing weight of him. He stumbled to his feet, his body trembling from the aftermath of alcohol and emotional shock. "I should... I should leave," he mumbled, unable to look at Rinwoo.
But as he stood, a wave of dizziness made him sway. Rinwoo's eyes, for all their pretended indifference, caught the slight stumble. He saw how the once-proud frame seemed frail, how the suit hung loosely on his shoulders. The man was unwell.
A war raged inside Rinwoo. The safe thing was to let him go. To preserve the peace he had fought for. But the man standing before him wasn't the cold tyrant of his memories; he was a ghost, starving and broken.
He hesitated, then spoke, his voice softer than he intended. "You should... have some breakfast first. I made plenty."
Jihoon, ever the opportunist, immediately chimed in. "Yeah! Hyung's cooking is amazing! It'll cure that hangover better than any medicine. Sit, sit!"
Taekyun stood frozen, his whole body trembling. Every instinct screamed at him to flee, to honor his vow of absence. But another, deeper, more selfish part was paralyzed. Because Rinwoo's pretense of not knowing him was a lie, and he knew it. He knew it with the same certainty that he knew he had spent the last two years haunting the edges of Rinwoo's life, watching from shadows and parked cars, a silent, penitent guardian who never dared to speak. To sit at this table, to eat food made by Rinwoo's hands, was a torture and a blessing he was utterly unprepared for.
Jihoon, completely oblivious to the tectonic plates shifting between his roommate and the mysterious billionaire, decided to take matters into his own hands. He grabbed Taekyun's arm with a cheerful insistence.
"Ah, don't be so shy! You look like you haven't had a proper meal in weeks. Come on, Hyung's pancakes are legendary," he said, pulling a resistant Taekyun towards the small dining table.
Rinwoo served the food in silence, placing a plate in front of Taekyun with a quiet, "Here." The simple domesticity of the act felt surreal.
As soon as they began to eat, Jihoon's curiosity got the better of him, his mouth half-full. "So, Mr. Lee, is it true your family owns, like, an entire island? What do you even do all day? Do you have a gold-plated swimming pool?"
Rinwoo reached over without a word and firmly pinched Jihoon's cheek.
"Yah! Don't talk while eating. It's rude," Rinwoo chided, his voice holding a familiar, almost fond sternness.
Jihoon pouted, rubbing his cheek. "Fine, fine, Mom." He shot a mock-offended look at Rinwoo before dutifully shoveling more food into his mouth, though his eyes still darted between the two men with undisguised interest.
This left a heavy silence between Rinwoo and Taekyun. Rinwoo sat directly across from him, and Taekyun found he couldn't look away. The Rinwoo before him was… transformed. The sickly pallor was gone, replaced by a healthy, sun-kissed glow that spoke of days spent outside, of a life not confined to sickrooms and shadows. The devastating dark circles that had once marred his beautiful eyes had vanished. His hair, longer now, was silky and fell across his forehead in a way that was both casual and breathtaking. He was vibrant. Alive. He was more beautiful than Taekyun's most desperate, guilt-ridden memories could ever conjure.
Rinwoo felt the intensity of his gaze like a physical touch. He kept his eyes on his plate, but the weight of it became unbearable. He cleared his throat softly, a subtle, pointed sound.
The spell broke. Taekyun flinched and immediately dropped his gaze to his own plate, his ears turning a bright, embarrassed red. He looked like a scolded child who had been caught staring at something he had no right to behold.
Jihoon, blissfully unaware of the silent exchange, finished his food with a final, happy sigh. "I'm out! Thanks for the food, Hyung! Don't wait up!" He grabbed his bag and hurried out the door, leaving the two of them in a silence that was now deafening.
Rinwoo stood and began to gather the plates, the clatter of porcelain the only sound. He moved to the sink, turning on the water, creating a barrier of mundane noise.
It was then that Taekyun found his voice, or rather, a broken, hesitant whisper of it. He stood up, his whole body trembling with the effort of asking the question that had been burning a hole in his soul since he woke up.
"Rinwoo..." he began, the name a prayer on his lips. He took a shaky step forward. "Do... do you really not remember me?"
The sound of the running water stopped. Rinwoo's hands, submerged in the soapy basin, went still. He didn't turn around. The entire apartment seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the answer that would either shatter Taekyun completely or grant him a painful, fleeting absolution.