The weekend sunlight slipped through the tall glass windows of the Hanil Group's private office, spilling in pale gold over dark mahogany. The city hummed faintly below, distant and irrelevant. Inside, everything was quiet—except for the soft scratch of a fountain pen gliding across paper.
Jae-Hyun sat behind the desk, posture straight, expression unreadable, eyes fixed on the reports before him. The desk was immaculate—no clutter, no wasted motion, just precision. Every document was neatly aligned.
A soft knock interrupted the rhythm.
"Come in," he said without looking up.
The door opened. Mr. Oh stepped in, the faint scent of morning coffee clinging to his suit. "Good morning, Jae-Hyun."
"Morning," Jae-Hyun replied evenly, still flipping through the pages.
Mr. Oh crossed the room, setting down a folder thick with files. "We got three more clients whose operations are scheduled for next week and the week after," he said, his tone a mix of pride and fatigue.
Jae-Hyun glanced briefly at the list, then nodded once. "The employees can handle these themselves. I don't need to step in directly."
Mr. Oh smiled faintly. "Yes, of course. NovaSec's gotten to that point."
He slid a fresh stack of documents toward Jae-Hyun. "Still, I'll need your signature for these operations to begin."
The pen moved again as Jae-Hyun began signing, smooth and efficient. Silence stretched between them—until Mr. Oh spoke.
"Jae-Hyun," he said carefully, "why don't you start investing through a firm? You've built NovaSec into something solid already. You could grow your assets safely that way."
The pen paused mid-stroke.
Jae-Hyun's gaze lifted, calm and unhurried, but there was a flicker in his eyes—something sharp, almost amused. "Why should I pay them to manage money I can grow better myself?"
Mr. Oh blinked, momentarily thrown off. "I—well, that's not what I—"
But Jae-Hyun wasn't finished. He leaned back in his chair, voice low and deliberate. "An investment company is just a collection of people betting they're smarter than the market." He signed the last page with a quiet stroke. "I already know I am."
The confidence in his tone wasn't arrogance—it was fact. Cold, precise, undeniable.
Mr. Oh stood still for a moment, trying not to smile at the audacity of it. "And what exactly do you plan to do, then?"
Jae-Hyun set the pen down, eyes gleaming faintly under the sunlight. "Start my own investment firm," he said. "Another subsidiary under Hanil Group."
Mr. Oh's brows shot up. "Already? NovaSec's barely two months old, and you want to start another subsidiary? Who's going to manage that? I already have my hands full with NovaSec—and investment isn't even my field."
"I know," Jae-Hyun said simply. Then, almost lazily: "But investment is Mr. Nam's field."
Mr. Oh froze. "Mr. Nam? You mean Tae-Ho's father?"
"Exactly," Jae-Hyun replied, turning another page as if discussing the weather. "I want to recruit him. And you're going to help me do just that."
Mr. Oh let out a low whistle. "You do realize Mr. Nam doesn't exactly trust what he doesn't understand, right? He's… cautious. Calculated."
"Which," Jae-Hyun said, his tone perfectly calm, "is why he'll at least listen. Once he sees NovaSec's numbers, he won't need to 'understand' anything."
There was that quiet certainty again—the kind that made even the most rational people want to follow his lead.
Mr. Oh sighed softly, shaking his head but unable to hide the trace of admiration tugging at his mouth. "You know, I took a gamble on you once. And now you're planning to gamble on a veteran financier. Do you really think he'll agree?"
Jae-Hyun finally looked up fully, a faint, almost imperceptible smile curving at the edge of his lips. "He will. Or at least, he'll want to."
Mr. Oh exhaled, half-laughing, half-resigned. "Alright then. What do you need me to do?"
"Set up a meeting with him," Jae-Hyun said, closing the last folder neatly. "But don't mention me. Tell him you have something important to discuss. Something… mutually beneficial."
Mr. Oh gave a low chuckle. "You're not making this easy for me."
"I don't make things easy," Jae-Hyun said, slipping the signed documents back across the table. "I make them work."
Mr. Oh studied him for a moment—the stillness, the confidence, the frightening composure for someone his age—and found himself smiling again, this time almost proudly.
"You can be pretty convincing," he said at last. "So I guess it's worth a try."
- - -
The next Monday, after school.
The last bell of the day rang, echoing through the corridors like a final exhale.
The classroom buzzed with relief — chairs scraping, zippers opening, laughter swelling. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, painting the desks gold, and dust motes floated like lazy snow in the fading light.
Tae-Ho was already grinning as he stuffed his notebooks into his bag. "Finally! I thought this day would never end." He zipped up his bag and turned to his friends. "Hey, there's this new café that opened near my place—they say their lattes are life-changing. Let's go there today."
"Pass," Jae-Hyun said without looking up from his phone. "Basketball practice."
"Same here," Jae-Suk added, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Got a student council meeting. They're finalizing who gets in this year."
Tae-Ho gasped like he'd been betrayed. "Look at you two ditching me for extracurriculars. First it was academics, now this. My heart can't take this level of abandonment."
"You need to join a club," Jae-Hyun said, finally glancing up with that faint smirk that made everything he said sound like a dare. "What about the music club?"
"Or the drama club," Jae-Suk cut in, grinning. "You're already dramatic enough. I bet they'd make you lead actor after your first audition."
That earned them a scoff from Tae-Ho. "You two are unbearable."
Jae-Hyun chuckled. "Better yet, the culinary club. You talk about food more than you talk about homework."
"Exactly," Jae-Suk said, laughing. "You'd probably turn every club meeting into a buffet."
That did it — laughter spilled out between them. Tae-Ho threw a balled-up paper at Jae-Hyun, which he caught effortlessly without even glancing.
"Alright, alright, enough!" Tae-Ho laughed, trying to glare but failing miserably. "Maybe I'll join the photography club."
"That's actually not a bad idea," Jae-Suk said. "You're good at taking pictures. Remember that one you took at the field trip? Even the teacher used it for the school's brochure."
"Yeah," Tae-Ho said, scratching his neck, a little embarrassed. "I guess. But my dad wants me to join an academic club. You know, 'build your résumé,' 'network with intellectuals,' all that. Those clubs are boring."
"Just give it a shot," Jae-Hyun said lightly. "He might change his mind once he sees you actually doing something you like."
That earned a hollow chuckle from Tae-Ho. "Easier said than done." He zipped up his bag with a sharp motion and muttered, quieter, "The sun's more likely to fall than for my dad to change his mind."
Silence dropped between them like a curtain. For a heartbeat, all they could hear was the chatter from other classrooms, the squeak of shoes in the hall.
Jae-Hyun looked at him, the smirk gone now, replaced with a flicker of something else—something softer. Jae-Suk shifted awkwardly, opening his mouth to say something but thinking better of it.
Jae-Suk glanced at Jae-Hyun — both caught off guard, neither sure what to say. Tae-Ho had said it like a joke, but the weight behind his voice was unmistakable.
Tae-Ho forced a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Anyway… have fun at your clubs, yeah? I'll call my driver."
He swung his bag over his shoulder and walked out before either of them could answer.
The door clicked shut.
Jae-Suk exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Man… did it just get heavy in here, or—"
"Yeah," Jae-Hyun said quietly, staring at the door. "It did."
Outside, through the window, they could see Tae-Ho walking down the school steps—alone, head tilted toward the sky like he was trying to find something worth smiling about up there.
- - -
Meanwhile in the basketball gym.
The rhythmic squeak of sneakers and the sharp echo of bouncing balls filled the gym, each sound blending into the pulse of competition. The air was thick with focus — players panting, calling out plays, the whistle slicing through the noise.
Then the door slid open with a low creak.
A student stood there, sunlight catching the edge of his hair — Kwon Raon.
The volleyball prodigy. The boy whose name had dominated junior high tournaments, whose perfect spikes and impossible saves had led his team to victory at regionals. He'd been called a natural — the kind of athlete born once in a generation.
And yet… he had never once truly enjoyed it.
Volleyball was precision. Volleyball was pressure. Everyone expected him to win — and he did, every time. But victory had long stopped feeling like triumph; it felt like routine, like checking boxes on someone else's dream.
When he entered Shinseong High — the academy every athlete secretly dreamed of — it wasn't because of volleyball. It was because of what Shinseong represented: a powerhouse, a school where competition was oxygen and talent was currency. Their teams — basketball, volleyball, football, track, swimming, kendo — all made it to nationals. Every year, without fail.
And yet, Raon had hesitated.
Should he rejoin volleyball — the sport he excelled in but never loved — or take the risk of starting fresh? Basketball fascinated him, but fascination didn't equal skill. He had no proper techniques, no experience, just instinct — but it was an instinct like no other.
His reaction time was razor sharp, his reflexes clean, his speed unmatched. He'd been called a natural in volleyball, but he knew it was more than that — he adapted fast. Uncannily fast.
Still, he had doubts. Would the basketball team even accept someone like him — a first-year with zero experience? Especially when the team already had stars like Min-Seok… and now, Jae-Hyun.
Jae-Hyun — the genius who had become the school's newest mystery.
He'd heard the rumors: how the captain begged him to join the team for weeks, and how he coldly refused — until one day, he didn't.
That was the day Raon knew he wanted in.
He had watched that game between Jae-Hyun and Min-Seok from the upper stands, barely breathing as Jae-Hyun moved — not just with skill, but with intent. Every step, every fake, every pass was precise, controlled, beautiful. He'd crushed Min-Seok so completely that the entire school was left in stunned silence.
It wasn't arrogance — it was mastery.
And for the first time in years, Raon felt alive watching someone play.
So he decided. If basketball could make him feel that, even once — it was worth starting over.
Now, standing in the gym doorway, he took a steady breath. The coach noticed him.
He stepped forward, his expression calm but his heart thudding against his ribs.
Raon bowed slightly, voice steady but resolute.
"I'd like to join the basketball team."
The coach raised a brow.
The volleyball prodigy wanted to switch courts?