"Life is about give and take; you know this better than anyone; the deal is clear, either you take an in, or war it shall be.
"It's indeed give and take, so why do I feel like the only one who gives without receiving anything in return?"
"Because th...
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
"And did you think twice before you shook hands with Namjoon and made him shed my blood just to make a point, father?"
Taehyung's voice sounded composed despite the seriousness of the words he uttered. It was rid of disappointment, rid of emotion, as if he wasn't talking about his father spilling his blood. He sat leisurely on the couch, his legs crossed and one arm draped over the headrest of the sofa, while his father stood a few meters away, his face lined with anger like the wrinkles that told of the years he had spent in this world.
When things in life are on the right track, they continue to flourish. Just as money calls for money, success calls for success, one victory calls for another, too. And Taehyung began to win, and ever since, the taste of defeat has been a memory from the past. Something he didn't want to recall. He preferred to forget it.
This confrontation had been long awaited. Taehyung's recurring dream and his most fervent wish. A moment of liberation. Of celebration. A moment to harvest what he sought in the long fall followed by an even longer winter that left no room for the seeds to grow into grains. He raved about it. Expected people to point their fingers at him and call him ungrateful. But that didn't matter, because no one lived what he did. No one walked through the bumpy streets with bare feet like he did. No one rubbed balm on them so they could heal, and no one gave him a pair of shoes, so they might as well kiss his ass.
"I told you to sit tight and watch me take care of it. Since when do you have the balls to take matters into your own hands, Taehyung, huh? Stupid bastard. Look where your plans have gotten us. Now I'm entangled in this shit too."
Taehyung lit a cigarette and watched his father's sclerotic moment with amusement. His voice sounded questioning, but what he said next wasn't a question at all.
"Why do I get the feeling that you keep ignoring the point here, father? Is it a lack of understanding due to your advanced age?" He stood up and walked towards his father. Gaze lacked interest as he looked at the old man and continued: "You never compensated me for the scar you caused. Father, my wife cut open my chest to get the bullet out, and guess what? It took her no less than fifteen stitches to sew me back up. That shit left a horrible scar that scares her every time we -uh-you know, try to conceive your heir. Might as well be why you don't have one yet. Needless to say, you haven't paid her fee. That bill is still pending, too. So, I'm sorry to break it down for you, but I'm not stupid. I'm a calculating businessman, and I owe you that. Nothing is free in business. Your words, not mine."
The way Taehyung held up his hands as if to say, "Your turn," made old Kim's anger skyrocket. He wished he had put an end to his son instead of just scaring him with a glancing bullet. After all, his son never thought of him as a father. Never showed him the affection that a son would show his parents. Never appreciated his presence. Instead, he always felt like he was swarming in his absence. He always appreciated his mother a little more. Fucking mama's boy.
