TIOAWN Chapter 1

The man staring down from beneath the building was deathly still, in stark contrast to the dynamic motion of the car pushing against the winter wind.  

 

With one hand resting on his waist, his gaze shifted to the frozen Han River.  

 

Knock, knock.  

 

A sharp, orderly knock sounded. Beyond the window, a snowflake perched on a bare branch lost its grip and fluttered to the ground.  

 

Ji Kang-heon, who had knocked precisely twice, adjusted his attire before stepping inside.  

 

The moonlight illuminating the panoramic window seemed to be swallowed up, casting an oppressive darkness around his boss. Kang-heon unconsciously froze mid-step.  

 

“Come in.”  

 

The man, still staring at the window, removed a golden wristwatch from his wrist. He carelessly placed the watch—worth over a hundred million won—on the desk before turning fully to face him.  

 

“We lost CEO Seo Myung-sik.”  

 

As Kang-heon delivered the report, the man removed his cufflinks and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Leaning forward with both arms pressed firmly against the desk, the veins in his thick wrists stood out, and the dark snake tattoo coiled vividly.  

 

“I’m sorry.”  

 

Kang-heon bowed deeply.  

 

At that moment, the nameplate caught the moonlight.  

 

Cha Moo-geon, CEO of Yeocha Industrial Development.  

 

“I have no excuse, Sir.”  

 

Kang-heon bit back the word “CEO” that lingered on the edge of his lips and corrected himself, addressing him properly. A heavy silence followed, deep and suffocating.  

 

“CEO, huh.”  

 

Still leaning forward, Moo-geon flicked his index finger. The subordinate standing behind Kang-heon bowed respectfully and approached the desk. He was one of Moo-geon’s men, assigned to tail Seo Myung-sik.  

 

Without hesitation, Moo-geon pressed the back of the subordinate’s head down. With a loud thud, his forehead hit the desk.  

 

“I understand that we lost Seo Myung-sik. What’s next?”  

 

His icy voice was devoid of emotion. Kang-heon quickly spoke up.  

 

“The court seizure process has been completed.”  

 

To thoroughly bring Seo Myung-sik down, Moo-geon had taken on all the debts accrued from his scams. Finally, when Cha Moo-geon became Seo’s sole creditor, the man disappeared—leaving behind an astronomical debt of 13.94 billion won.  

 

“And?”  

 

As the man groaned weakly, Kang-heon hastily continued his report.  

 

“We are swiftly handling any matters that could harm you, Sir, due to Seo Myung-sik’s actions.”  

 

“What else?”  

 

“We’re investigating whether Seo’s right-hand man, Lee Sun-ho, betrayed him or if Vice President Song Woo-jin orchestrated everything.”  

 

“Handling it. Investigating it.”  

 

Moo-geon lifted the subordinate’s head again before slamming it back onto the desk.  

 

“Since when did we start working so sluggishly?”  

 

His tone was less a question and more an outright reprimand. Kang-heon quickly bowed his head.  

 

“We’ve located Seo Ha-yoon.”  

 

For a moment, the air turned as cold as the frozen Han River.  

 

Tap, tap.  

 

Moo-geon’s precisely aligned eyebrows arched slightly. A faint line appeared on his otherwise flawless forehead.  

 

Seo Myung-sik’s only daughter, cherished as if she were a fragile treasure, had reportedly never endured hardship, nor had she so much as dirtied her hands.  

 

“She hasn’t left the house since Seo Myung-sik disappeared.”  

 

In truth, even before his disappearance, she rarely went out. Whether she didn’t know how to, or if it was simply her lifelong routine, Seo Ha-yoon’s destinations were limited to the hospital and home—so much so that calling it restricted wouldn’t suffice.  

 

Moo-geon’s arms tensed as he leaned against the desk, the black snake tattoo rippling as though it might crawl up his arm. The man groaned again, finally letting out a pained whimper.  

 

“Seo Ha-yoon.”  

 

Moo-geon’s tightly sealed lips parted as he savored her name. His pitch-black pupils, once calm, now churned like stormy waves on a midnight sea.  

 

“She’s still a minor, isn’t she?”  

 

A girl similar in height and weight to his only sister, Cha So-eun. Even their blood types were the same.  

 

Of all the coincidences, they were alike. Of all things, it had to be her.  

 

“And even the same damn age.”  

 

Moo-geon knew better than anyone that Seo Ha-yoon wasn’t a minor.  

 

“She’s 22 this year. There’s no issue in proceeding with the debt settlement,” Kang-heon replied, assuming Moo-geon’s question pertained to the debt repayment process.  

 

“Start cleaning up Seo Myung-sik’s circle.”  

 

Not a single one of his lackeys would be spared.  

 

Moo-geon fixed Kang-heon with an icy stare.  

 

“Yes, Sir.”  

 

Bang.  

 

A loud noise echoed as Moo-geon struck again. This time, the sound was far more forceful than before, and the subordinate, who had been pressing his forehead against the desk, slumped lifelessly to the side.  

 

Thud.  

 

The dull noise made Kang-heon flinch.  

 

“Chief Ji.”  

 

Without so much as a glance at the fallen subordinate, Moo-geon stepped forward and placed a hand on Kang-heon’s right shoulder. For a brief moment, Kang-heon’s tense brow furrowed.  

 

“Let’s wrap this up before sunrise.”  

 

As the veins in Moo-geon’s hand stood out, Kang-heon’s expression hardened.  

 

“Yes, Sir.”  

 

Tap, tap.  

 

Moo-geon patted his shoulder twice before leaving the office. Kang-heon grabbed Moo-geon’s jacket from the coat rack and quickly followed after him.  

 

***

 

Passing through the crystal-paneled doors revealed a terrace, fluttering white curtains, an expensive rug made from Australian wool, and an easel positioned in the center of the room.

 

Ha-yoon sat on the bed, dazed, as if transported to a luxury department store.

 

“It’s been about a month.”

 

It had been a month since Seo Myung-sik had last come home.

 

The housekeepers, who used to visit three or four times a week, no longer showed up. The refrigerator was nearly empty, and the living room was piled with what appeared to be overdue notices.

 

Occasionally, there were people who kicked the front door or tried to barge into the house. Each time, Seo Myung-sik’s subordinates stationed at the gate dealt with them swiftly, throwing them off as if to quell the commotion.

 

This wasn’t surprising. It wasn’t unusual for Seo Myung-sik to be absent for extended periods or for strangers to cause a racket in front of the house.

 

But at some point, the number of men guarding the gate dwindled.

 

It was certainly strange, but Ha-yoon didn’t feel the need to go to the gate herself.

 

If she went, they’d undoubtedly tell her to go back inside in their usual cold tone.

 

Or they’d ask if she had finished her painting and gone wandering again.

 

As if painting were her sole purpose.

 

She had barely grown accustomed to the cold air in the house when autumn turned to winter, and even that sense of familiarity blew away with the wind.

 

Ha-yoon pulled a shawl over her shoulders and dragged a blanket over her knees.

 

Whoosh Whoosh.~~

 

The winter wind blew fiercely. The terrace door rattled weakly, and her slender shoulders trembled. Even curling her body tightly couldn’t stop the shivering.

 

Rattle, crash.

 

The firmly locked door shook as if it might break at any moment.

 

“Dad…?”

 

As if waiting, Ha-yoon stepped down from the bed and stood in front of the door, but she soon hesitated.

 

—“Draw, Seo Ha-yoon. Don’t paint trash like last time and embarrass yourself in front of President Jin. Draw something properly this time.”

 

Her hand fell away from the doorknob. She backed away, approaching the easel.

 

I still haven’t painted a single piece.

 

No matter how long she held her pencil or how much time she spent sitting blankly in front of the easel, she couldn’t even draw a single line.

 

Ha-yoon’s eyes wandered over the red tags scattered throughout her room.

 

The bed, the easel, the picture frames, the table, the bench bed, even the small lamp. Her gaze swept past the tagged items with detachment.

 

She had no idea what was happening.

 

Turning her head, Ha-yoon stared blankly beyond the terrace.

 

A few days ago, instead of her father, a court officer came to the house. With an indifferent expression, he tagged various items and warned her not to touch anything.

 

Did he also say she couldn’t use them freely? Maybe not.

 

Her unfocused eyes didn’t sharpen. Escaping into the distance, she eventually shifted her gaze to the blank easel.

 

—“Draw, Seo Ha-yoon. Prove your worth through your paintings.”

 

Her shoulders slumped, and she felt suffocated. Though it was clearly a hallucination, it felt as though her father might suddenly appear, grab her shoulders, and scold her.

 

Ha-yoon clenched her eyes shut, then furiously swung her pencil across the easel as if tearing it apart. The shawl slipped from her shoulders.

 

I can’t do it. I can’t draw.

 

Her trembling hand holding the pencil was pitiful. She swung the pencil with so much force that her body swayed, but then suddenly—bang!—a deafening crash echoed as the door burst open.

 

“There’s nothing here, sir.”

 

The report-like voice trailed off, and the cold sound of leather shoes crossed the room.

 

Ha-yoon turned her head toward the door as if drawn by a magnet.

 

A solid physique, broad shoulders, sharp eyebrows. Dry, icy eyes.

 

A black shirt, a dark tie, and an immaculate black coat without a speck of dust.

 

The sight reminded Ha-yoon of the night sky she sometimes gazed at absentmindedly in the group.

 

A cruel night sky that seemed to absorb every color around it.

 

Just stretching out her hand made her wonder if even her body would be consumed by the darkness.

 

Whenever she felt such an overpowering sensation, an intense urge to draw something unstructured would arise.

 

Just like now.

 

Her hazy pupils found focus, and her grip on the pencil tightened.

 

“Seize her.”

 

But the cold voice directed at Ha-yoon showed no mercy. Before she realized it, she was kneeling on the white rug she had always walked on.

 

“Who… are you?”

 

Her throat tightened strangely, though no one was holding her.

 

“I’ve come to claim something.”

 

The flat voice hung low.

 

The wind howled fiercely. The sudden gust left a powerful impression, as did the man who appeared so abruptly.

 

Thud. The easel toppled over.