The Kang family did not eat together out of warmth.
They ate together out of habit.
Ji-hoon stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting the cuff of his shirt. The fabric was crisp, tailored perfectly to his frame, custom-made, of course. Even the smallest details in this life were expensive.
Yet the man who wore them had always been invisible.
"Second Young Master," a soft voice called from outside the room. "Chairman Kang is waiting."
Ji-hoon turned.
The reflection looking back at him was composed. Calm. Expressionless.
Good, he thought. This face already knows how to hide everything.
He followed the maid through long marble corridors until they reached the dining hall.
The table was absurdly large.
Only three seats were occupied.
At the head sat Chairman Kang Tae-jun, his father. A man whose presence alone could make executives tremble. His posture was straight, his silver hair neatly combed, his eyes sharp even at his age.
To his right sat Kang Min-jae, the eldest son.
Perfect suit. Relaxed smile. Confident eyes.
The man who would eventually take everything.
Ji-hoon bowed politely. "Father."
Chairman Kang glanced at him for half a second.
"Sit."
No warmth. No curiosity. Just acknowledgment like one might give a piece of furniture.
Ji-hoon took his seat.
Breakfast was served silently. Western-style, eggs, bread, fruit, coffee. Expensive, tasteless.
Min-jae spoke first, his tone casual. "Ji-hoon, I heard you've been skipping family dinners again."
Ji-hoon continued cutting his food. "I've been busy."
Min-jae chuckled. "Busy? You don't work in the company."
There it was.
The familiar humiliation.
In the original timeline, Ji-hoon would have lowered his head here. Apologized. Fallen silent.
This time, he didn't.
"I don't," Ji-hoon agreed calmly. "Yet."
The sound of cutlery stopped.
Min-jae's smile stiffened slightly. Chairman Kang's eyes lifted.
"Yet?" the chairman repeated.
Ji-hoon met his father's gaze, not challenging, not submissive. Simply steady.
"I plan to start soon."
A pause followed.
Then Chairman Kang snorted. "You?"
Min-jae laughed openly. "Father, let's be realistic. Ji-hoon isn't suited for business. He's… quiet."
Quiet.
That word again.
Ji-hoon remembered the future. How that same brother would sign documents that ruined him. How silence would be mistaken for incompetence until the day Ji-hoon died in a hospital bed with no visitors.
He placed his fork down gently.
"Brother," he said, voice even, "being loud doesn't make one capable."
Min-jae's eyes narrowed.
The room felt colder.
Chairman Kang studied his second son more carefully now. "What do you want?"
Ji-hoon didn't rush his answer.
"I want a chance," he said. "A small one. Give me a minor subsidiary. Three months."
Min-jae scoffed. "You think this is a game?"
"If I fail," Ji-hoon continued, unfazed, "I'll step away from the company permanently."
Silence fell again.
The chairman tapped his finger once against the table.
"Which subsidiary?"
Ji-hoon already knew the answer.
"Hanseong Logistics."
Min-jae's expression changed completely.
That company was a sinking ship. Bleeding money. Buried in debt. A perfect trap.
Chairman Kang's lips curved faintly. "Very well."
Min-jae opened his mouth. "Father..."
"Three months," the chairman said coldly. "No resources. No help."
Ji-hoon bowed his head. "That's enough."
As he straightened, Min-jae leaned closer, voice low. "You're making a mistake."
Ji-hoon met his brother's eyes and offered a polite smile.
"No," he thought. I'm correcting one.
Later, as Ji-hoon walked out of the mansion, his phone vibrated.
A message appeared on the screen, one that had ruined him in the original timeline.
Unknown Number:We need to talk. It's about us.
Ji-hoon stared at the message for a long moment.
Then he deleted it.
The future had already changed.
And this time, he would move first.