Joo Won's phone rang in the early morning on 25th of December. The Chairman's voice bled through the receiver like static pressed against glass—distorted, brittle, and cold. The call lasted five seconds. Just long enough to deliver a verdict.
"You know what you have to do."
No pleasantries. No explanation. Only the immense, familiar weight of a command—the unspoken order to once again become the instrument of his own despair, to extinguish a rising star that dared to shine too close to the Hwang empire.
Meanwhile, YERIN was basking in the afterglow of its recent triumph. Headlines sang its name. Ji Woo's inbox overflowed with congratulations, his phone pulsed with messages from friends and distant acquaintances—each one a reminder of how far he'd come. But he barely had time to breathe. The Hwang Group's Christmas Gala loomed, and he'd accepted the invitation with Dong Geun by his side.
The venue shimmered with excess—crystal chandeliers, velvet gowns, champagne that tasted like privilege. It was the kind of spectacle designed to dazzle, to make ordinary people forget their place. Ji Woo and Dong Geun weren't immune to its spell, though Ji Woo carried something colder beneath his tailored suit: a quiet grudge. The Hwang Group had wrung his father dry, worked him past exhaustion.
And yet, here he was—walking into their glittering halls not as a guest, but as a contender. This wasn't surrender. It was a silent declaration. A victory parade of his own making.
Collin had mentioned that several investors would be in the gala. Ji Woo knew what that meant. For YERIN, this night wasn't just about celebration. It was about making acquaintances.
—
Back in the penthouse, the city lights below flickered like distant stars—cold, unreachable. Joo Won stood by the window, the Chairman's command still echoing in his ears. Another startup. Another dream to be buried before it could bloom. He didn't flinch. After years of experience, the ritual had become muscle memory.
The Chairman feared potential. If any new business showed promise, it was killed like an insect. Not violently, but strategically—legal traps, whispered rumors, sabotage which finally ended with Hwang Group taking over the company. Joo Won had become the instrument at the hands of the devil.
The board had long pushed for Bae Hoon to be given a real seat, a real title. But the chairman knew that Joo Won was a display material—a son polished for show, deployed only when the Chairman needed a clean pair of hands to do something dirty. Secretary Baek had been tasked to train Joo Won this way. After, three or four times, the last of Joo Won's hesitation had been systematically extinguished.
But this time was different.
This time, the target was YERIN. And this time, Joo Won had something to lose.
He had so long clung to the fragile hope that his brother—wherever he was—was living well, had built a life of his own. That maybe, in some quiet corner of the world, he was safe. But hope was dangerous. It makes one hesitate. It makes one weak.
So Joo Won made a promise to himself: he would kill that hope. He would sink the last ship before it could sail. Because if his brother's life truly mattered, then YERIN had to fall. No matter how brilliant its victory.
The plan was simple. Brutal. Poison the well. Tarnish YERIN's name so thoroughly that no one would dare touch it. Not now. Not ever.
And in the silence of the penthouse, as the city glittered below, Joo Won prepared to become the villain his "family" had always needed.
He made a call.
——————————————————————
The Hwang Christmas Gala was not a party; it was a statement. An exhibition of power, taste, and unimaginable wealth, held in the grand ballroom of a five-star hotel owned by the conglomerate itself. Secretary Baek was there out of duty, not invitation—a ghost at the feast, silently noting conversations and ensuring the Chairman's schedule ran with invisible precision. Yet, in a calculated gesture of false benevolence, the Hwangs also "invited" his family. His wife glowed with pride at their inclusion, while Hana stood uncomfortably in a new dress.
The primary light was a sharp, platinum white, emanating from countless crystal chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceiling. Each prism refracted the light into tiny, piercing rainbows that danced across the room like scattered diamonds. This light was unforgiving and clarifying, making the sterling silver cutlery gleam and the gilded picture frames shine with a hard, expensive glint.
The room was a sea of power. Elderly conglomerate chairmen in tailored tuxedos, their wives adorned in diamonds and vintage silk gowns and hanboks. Their heirs, young men and women in designer dresses and sharp suits, looking polished and vaguely bored. Celebrities, politicians, and socialites mingled, their laughter a high, polished sound that blended with the clinking of glasses. It was a nexus of influence, every handshake a potential deal, every smile a carefully calculated gesture.
"Where is the young heir?" the guests murmured behind champagne flutes, their eyes scanning the glittering crowd for the handsome, stoic face that was meant to be the centerpiece of the evening. Secretary Baek came with a hushed explanation: "Bonbujang-nim is feeling unwell and sends his deepest regrets." It was accepted with nods of faux sympathy, though everyone knew the Hwangs' prized son was never permitted to be sick on display days.
But for the Hwang family, his absence was a calculated move in order to avoid a possible public shaming. The customary Christmas photo—usually featuring the three of them, a perfect, frozen tableau of dynastic power—was taken without him.
Perched on the edge of a velvet chair, Hana felt utterly alone, abandoned even by her own mother to the whims of the glittering crowd. The hum of hollow conversation was pierced by her father's voice, clear and officious, as he spoke to a guest: "Bonbujang-nim is feeling unwell and sends his deepest regrets."
Feeling unwell? The words echoed in her mind. On his birthday, he had been pale, sweating, on the verge of collapse. A cold dread seized her. What if something was seriously wrong? What if it was another episode of panic attack?
Acting on a sudden rush of fear, she quickly told her mother she had to leave—an urgent matter—and practically fled the gala without another word. She hailed a cab, her heart hammering against her ribs, she called multiple times but each time the call went to the voicemail. She feared the worst. Finally the cab takes her to her dreaded destination. She basically rans to his penthouse apartment.
Standing before his door, she rang the bell, her earlier resolve now mixed with trepidation. When the door swung open, Joo Won stood there, shirt damp with sweat, his breathing slightly labored, his face a mask of surprise at her sudden appearance.
And in a flash, the reality of the last day crashed down on her— regarding what she was told the other day. A person she truly did not know or a person who's not mentally well. Either way entering his apartment alone no longer felt safe.
Maintaining a careful, formal distance, she clasped her hands tightly. Her voice was laced with hesitant concern, yet firmly polite, using the honorifics that now felt like a necessary shield.
"Joo Won-ssi," she began, the name still foreign on her tongue. "At the gala, my father said that you were unwell. I... I remembered seeing you had two panic attacks that day, on your b—... on Bae Hoon's birthday. Are you alright?"
"I am alright." Joo Won responded rather coldly.
"Then why are you sweating so much. Your breathing seems rapid. You didn't pick up my call."
"That's because I was working out. I am sorry I did not hear the phone. I never thought anyone would call me at this time of the night."
She checked her to phone to find out it is already 10.05pm. She didn't even think about checking the time.
"Why would you work out if you are feeling unwell?"
"I am not sick. The chairman asked me not to come this year. I am just following orders." Joo Won said while standing at the doorway realizing Hana might be hesitant to come inside.
"You're... not sick?" she repeated, her voice softer now, less frantic. "The Chairman told you not to come?" How could they do that? It's Christmas. You should be with your family.
"What family, Hana-ssi?" he interrupted gently, his voice devoid of self-pity. It was a simple, stark fact.
The truth of it settled over her. Ah. Right. The story. "So... what will you do now?" she asked, her earlier urgency melting into something quieter, more curious. "Have you eaten at least?"
He gave a small, almost dismissive nod. "Mm. I had ramyeon. And reheated the coq au vin from lunch." There was no embarrassment in his admission, only a shrug of practicality. "I was about to shower, then sleep. Tomorrow there's work to do."
Hana could only stare. There was no bitterness in his tone, no resentment. He wasn't putting on a brave face—he was genuinely at ease. Content, even. The grandeur of the gala, the exclusion, the performance... none of it seemed to touch him here, in the quiet of his apartment with his simple meal and his evening routine.
She had run here expecting to find him ill, distraught, or lonely. Instead, she found a man finally at peace, freed for one night from the role of his life.
For Joo Won, Hana looked like a vision completely out of place—a moment of gentle beauty stumbled into his world of shadows. She wasn't dressed in anything too gaudy or icy sequins of the gala. Instead, she wore a simple but elegant forest green wrap dress made of soft, brushed velvet. It wasn't flashy or expensive-looking—the kind of dress someone thoughtful and tasteful would choose, not something bought to flaunt wealth. The color made her skin glow under the hallway light. A delicate silver pendant rested just below her collarbone, subtle and personal, and small pearl studs graced her ears. Her hair was loosely styled, a few strands falling free as if she'd run her hands through it in worry. She looked real. Warm. Entirely unlike the coldly perfect mannequins parading at the gala. And that's what struck him most—here she was, having fled a glamorous event, still dressed in this simple, lovely outfit, her eyes wide with concern... for him. And that undid him more than any grand gesture ever could. However, he did not dare to ask her if she came here worried for him or Bae Hoon. He was certain that she is not fully in terms with the truth.
He hailed a cab for her and she left. While getting in the car, she wished him, "MERRY CHRISTMAS"
——
Back at the gala, the air shimmered with laughter and champagne, the kind of curated joy that only money could manufacture. But then, like a ripple in glass, the mood shifted.
Phones began to buzz—soft at first, then in waves. A notification surfaced on screen after screen, like a virus blooming in real time.
"YERIN's Zombie Idol Savior: Major Data Breach Exposed." The headline pulsed beneath the logo of a leading news channel, stark and merciless.
Ji Woo was mid-sentence, speaking to Atlas Global's CEO, Mr. Choi, about scalability and post-victory projections. His voice was steady, rehearsed. But Mr. Choi's attention fractured. He glanced at his phone, eyes narrowing. Without a word, he interrupted Ji Woo with a polite smile and a vague excuse about the restroom.
Ji Woo blinked, confused by the sudden shift. He hadn't noticed the chimes, the subtle panic threading through the crowd.
Dong Geun who was standing beside him watched the room tilt—guests whispering, some even laughing, the glittering surface of the party felt like an insult. His own phone buzzed in his pocket, the headline staring back like a wound.
He turned to Ji Woo, his expression tight with disbelief.
"You need to see this," he said, his voice low but urgent.
Ji Woo took the phone from his hand. The screen lit up with disaster.
And just like that, the victory began to rot.
—————————
Joo Won was already aware of the aftermath. He couldn't bring himself to face the digital world. His only confirmation came from the same number whom he ordered to carry out this dreadful task of airing out a fake smear campaign. This would keep the potential investors at bay for now.