A/N
chapter 18! we're look at about seven more chapters left, things are gonna escalate real soon. hang in there ;)
as always, thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading. a vote and/or a comment would be greatly appreciated as well :)
sending you all the best,
krissy
❦
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MARCH 2014
○
IT'S EASY TO trust a man if you don't know his history.
When Seo Jaeseok meets me for the first time, he isn't a district attorney or a widowed man corrupted by the thirst for money. He is a father.
He invites me to meet him at a high-end coffee shop on the hilly edges of Gangnam. The shop itself is a two-story monster of dark, sweeping grandeur with a mezzanine that overlooks an elaborate brewery gleaming with silver espresso machines and pumps. Thin hangul script gleams an umber orange neon against black paneled wood, casting a trembling glow across our faces. It's late at night, past closing. He's reserved this space for only us.
"Consider it a kind of safety measure I do for anyone who draws close to my son," says Jaeseok, pulling his coat around his heavy stature. "He's a sensitive boy, and more than enough politicians and reporters have taken advantage of him. For obvious purposes."
He raises an eyebrow, and I laugh, but it comes out too shallow. "Right."
Silence falls. The black floors have been polished so pristinely the light reflects off its surface as if on rippling water. A trail of vintage blues slips into my ears, and I try to match my heartbeat to its deep, thrumming bass.
Two steaming black mugs of dark roast coffee sit between us. Jaeseok runs a thumb across a stain on his. "What is it you study again?"
"Gaming design," I answer. "Actually, I've been doing interviews with EA South Korea. For an entry position on their illustration team."
Jaeseok smiles. The fatherly wrinkles on his round face crease warmly. "Ah, so you're talented in the arts. You know, I know one or two notable figures in the industry who could give you a boost."
"Oh, I couldn't accept that..."
"Kim Woobin, for one," he continues. "Now, that man is an anxious one, but he'd love to hire you—"
My face brightens. "I met him yesterday. He'll be interviewing me in a few days."
"Would you like a good word?"
His words catch me off guard. "What?"
"Would you like a good word," he repeats simply. Patiently.
I stare at him, dumbfounded. The position at EA South Korea is one I've dreamed of for ages, ever since I dove into the intricacies of character design during my second year. Their vision for art and story aligns with mine, and the door is wide open.
Jaeseok laughs, reading the surprise on my innocent face. "Oh, Nari," he says with affection. "You're surprised now, but you'll realize later that life is so much simpler when you know how to navigate it."
"I couldn't," I manage. My voice sounds stronger than I feel. "I can't let you do that. Or—I mean, you can if you'd like, but I'd prefer if I could have a fair shot."
He nods, lifts his mug for a sip, and glances at me over the rim. "Respectable."
"But thank you for the offer. I—"
"Don't fall over yourself thanking me." He shakes his head with a distant squint of his eyes. "You treat my son so well, I'm feeling rather embarrassed."
I flush. "Well, I do what I can."
"Of course you do," he answers reassuringly. "You're just more capable than many people I've met."
I laugh. "With all due respect, you've only seen me for...how long has it been? Has it been ten minutes?"
He tilts his head thoughtfully. "An acquired skill, I suppose."
"What is?"
"Deciding who I can trust," he answers. "I feel that you can empathize. You know, instantly, who you can lean on to stay for a very long time." I pause, and he catches it, holding my gaze with his. Pensive. "Curious how instinct works, huh?"
I will never forget that moment, the instant understanding between us that made it so difficult for me to grasp the selfishness beneath.
"Very," my voice answers. "I guess it's a pleasant shortcut."
○
PRESENT DAY
○
"TUESDAY THE THIRD."
Woobin's reminder of Zelda Cross: Retribution's release date echoes glumly off the colorless geometric walls of the event venue in Yongsan-gu. The event has been established as both a release celebration and final DLC unveiling, and its confirmed date is two days before the third--a little over a week from today.
It's been a few days since the incident at Minseok's, and the air has been strangely quiet, as if thickened by a blanket of radio silence. Jimin and I spend evenings together walking down parks and night markets exchanging steaming skewers of odeng and poring over art stalls, but there is an edge of quiet fear and sadness between us, too. It stings gently, bittersweetly, with each reassuring squeeze of our intertwined fingers and each lingering gaze after a bout of laughter, as if an unsaid countdown hangs over us.
Now, clicking his pen nervously, Woobin is seated in a mesh white swivel at the head of a vast wood conference desk in a sun-bathed private meeting room. Kaede and I are with him, poring over the calendar splayed across his sleek tablet screen.
I slide some tasks around the screen. "The seventeenth of December is, what, three weeks away? We communicate that to the marketing team, and they'll have promotions covered."
"They want you guys to send over more DLC content," points out Kaede flatly. "For promotional teasers."
"Done."
Woobin scratches his brow with a tired wince. "I have teams starting on event decorations. Nari, expect a few of them to consult you about the kind of atmosphere this event should have. With respect to the game's artistic style, you know the deal...."
I scrawl down the notice. "Right, and—"
My phone rings.
Everyone stops. I lean over to silence it—but pause when I see the name.
KIM NAMJOON
I've quickly grown accustomed to the knowledge that when Namjoon calls, it's urgent. I suck in a breath as the memory of Jimin's worn-down eyes in Japan flashes through my mind.
"I'm sorry, I need to take this," I murmur.
Kaede's exasperated voice follows me even as I slip out the door. "It's like half of her works at another firm, I swear."
The hall widens out into a glass-walled alcove. Namjoon's voice is heavy when it greets mine.
"I need your help," he says.
"What's wrong?"
He sighs, and a low sound of frustration rises from his throat. "It's Seo Jaeseok," he answers. "You know the seolleongtang place Jimin's mother owns in Jeju?"
My blood cools. "Yeah?"
"Jaeseok did an interview this morning. Everyone in the damn country now thinks Park Jimin is there."
+
IN SECONDS, NAMJOON outlines the problem—and the solution he wants to carry out while Big Hit keeps tabs on Jimin's endless practice.
Reporters have been harassing the restaurant since early morning—there's no telling if Jimin knows, with how his phone is always off during the hours he gruels himself on the dance floor.
"The least I can do is use my position to harness a team just to get the damn reporters off his mom, you know?" says Namjoon tiredly. "And I thought, hey, Nari's company is promoting a video game. It's a long shot, but if you have any connections to publicity...or any other people in the industry that might have ideas...if it costs money, I'll cover it. It's just sickening to allow Jaeseok to—"
"—have his way. I know. I..." I trail off, mind spinning for ideas as I peer fervently down the hall. Woobin and Kaede's murmurs are faint echoes. "I don't know if there's anything I can do—my boss is overwhelmed with getting teams on board with promotions already—"
"What about outside EA? You met Korean creators in Japan, right?"
I press my lips together as one eager face comes to mind. "Well—"
A blare of traffic cuts through on the other end, and Namjoon swears under his breath, as if he's nearly stepped in front of a moving car.
"I'm sorry for always doing this to you," he says with an anxious laugh. "I'm just concerned. You know how Jimin always sweeps things like this under the rug. He's been on edge lately and—"
"Things like this?"
"Hm?"
"This has happened before?"
"No, no, not this exactly. But other things. I mean, you know. Jaeseok harassing him outside the apartment was one thing, not to mention the way they ambushed him outside my place in Hongdae—it's—anyway, do you know of any way to organize something in Jeju? Just to take the attention away from Jimin's restaurant?"
The words leave me short of breath. "I might know someone. Jimin was ambushed in Hongdae?"
"Mm, not long ago. Hey, can you get in contact as soon as possible and let me know? I'm flying down to Jeju in a few hours to make sure his mom is alright, so..."
"Yeah. Okay, I'll get in touch."
"Thank you so much."
"Wait, what happened in Hongdae?"
But the line has clicked off. I'm too late.
A sour feeling settles across my chest. I scan the walls as if there are answers there. I'm not going to leave you, Nari. But the years have made it difficult to trust words.
My heart races with apprehension as I scroll through my contacts for the unfamiliar and dreaded number I've kept, by hesitation, on my phone.
KANG HAJOON
The dial tone drags on. I mutter under my breath, "Don't pick up, don't pick up--"
"Hello?"
Shit, my mind thinks. The words nearly slip my mouth, but I catch myself.
"Hello?" the low voice repeats.
"Yes, Kang Hajoon-ssi?"
"Mm, and who are you?"
"Yoo Nari," I answer. "We spoke at the—"
"Oh, Nari!" he says with pleasant surprise, breaking just about every social barrier, as if we are already on a first-name basis. I wince. "Ah, I'm so happy to hear from you. We absolutely need you here in Gwangju, and—"
"I'm sorry, this isn't about the Gwangju offer."
Hajoon pauses. "It isn't?"
"No." I swallow the sour taste in my mouth. "I'm calling to make a deal."
+
"NCSOFT BACKS EA South Korea's newest Zelda Cross release with an impromptu modeling shoot at Jeju's Shinhwa Amusement Park to promote exclusive DLC costume designs," reads Hyerin incredulously. "Ya, what is this? When did we agree to this?"
Thick plumes of steam rise between us from fat metallic bowls of ramen. I wave my chopsticks dismissively at her. "Don't bother with it."
"Did you run this by Woobin?"
"Mm. He knows Hajoon."
"Oh, yeah, and hates him," she says. "The guy complained about Hajoon for a straight hour after having one too many drinks at last year's holiday party."
I wrinkle my nose at Hyerin. "Woobin doesn't drink."
"Then he trashed Hajoon enough to have to blame it on alcohol, which is kind of worse—"
"Look, this isn't important, okay? All you need to know is that Woobin wanted backup, and I contacted Hajoon for a favor." When Hyerin shoots me a look, I laugh, raising my brows insistently. "It's really that simple."
"You laugh when you're lying."
"I'm not lying."
Hyerin mumbles under her breath. "You've been so secretive lately. So busy and so secretive."
Conversation gives way to ramen slurps accompanied by the splash of hot broth and the loud call for servers from over-eager customers cooling noodles in their mouths. A rather red sun has begun its descent, slipping like slow, liquid metal into a sea of glittering glass and awakening neon. After an endless stream of meetings with executives and staff in Yongsan-gu, Hyerin and I find relief in a hole-in-the-wall ramyeon shop in Gangnam.
My phone buzzes from another barrage of calls. I flip it sharply onto its front and reach for tea. Namjoon must have just arrived in Jeju, perhaps taking a bus to the neighborhood where the Park restaurant is.
I recall Namjoon's disbelieving laugh through the phone hours ago. "How the hell did you get A-list designers out to Shinhwa in hours? You did it. What can't you do?"
"How's his mom?"
"She's okay, but she's still...I mean..." A heavy pause. "The public found JM's family restaurant, Nari. It's only a matter of time before they find out that the owner's son is Park Jimin. JM, Jimin."
"Everyone will know."
Silence followed then as the words sank in. I still feel the heaviness of them now as I eat with Hyerin, feel the faint rays of sunset through the window as they bleed crimson light within. Jimin, still practicing, has responded to none of my calls.
Hyerin and I inhale our food in anticipation for the work that awaits us at the office. But the moment we leave the shop into bone-chilling weather, I know something is wrong.
A black Maserati waits across the street.
The intersection is flooded with intensifying traffic, but in that second it all blurs out of focus, sharp edges melting into hazy light until I can see only its dark elegant shape.
A flash of red leather appears as the back door opens. A man in a dark charcoal suit steps out, tucks a hair into place, and raises a gloved hand with an inviting quirk of his brow.
My blood cools. Kim Changho.
Hyerin notices with surprise. "You know him?"
"Ong," my mouth says. My mind races, and I have a flash of Jimin and I emerging from the airport. Of my eagerness to run and his quiet refusal. I don't want to run anymore. I can't.
"Let the team know I'll be back in an hour," my mouth says.
She looks to me, startled. "Who is that?"
"Someone important." Before she can ask again, I slip into the crowds and cross the flooded intersection, following the torrent of footsteps and elongated scarlet shadows until I'm face to face with the dry curl of Changho's lip.
"We meet again," he says unpleasantly.
I ignore him. My gaze slides, unimpressed, to the sleek car beside us, humming patiently against the curb. "Aren't you worried about getting ticketed, stopping at an intersection like this?"
He snorts. "We're above law enforcement."
"Where are we going?"
"To Seo Jaeseok," is all he says. Then he nods sharply at the back door, which hangs open. "Get in."
+
IT'S STRANGE, HOW time changes so much—yet so little.
Jaeseok has brought me to the same place we first met years ago, in the night-soaked hills of Gangnam-gu at the same coffee shop with its elaborate mezzanine, winking machines, and neon lights casting crooked shadows across paneled wood.
A glass jar with wilting flowers sits on our table. We sit beside the black wire railing of the mezzanine so that my eyes are free to follow the umber shadows seeping down into the glow of the brewery. The shop owner is a young pale-skinned man with dragon tattoos snaking up his arms and a wrinkled black beret jammed on his head, and he throws up a wary glance every once in a while, well aware of the strange company that has befallen his shop.
Jaeseok is dressed in one of his sleek navy suits with a matching tie. Four years ago, he had chosen a seat more concealed in the shadows, but today we sit plainly in the neon light, as if to make a statement. I notice the tired downturn on his lips, almost as if in a pout, and the deep bags beneath his eyes. His hair has grayed dramatically over the past few months, and his once roundish figure has grown slim. Almost fragile.
"I'm sorry for the late notice," he says, rubbing his eyes before smiling at me. "I needed to see you quickly."
Anger turns my heart to stone under his warm gaze. "What for?"
"My son needs help."
"Your son," I repeat.
He blinks, as if surprised by the sharpness of my voice. Then he laughs. "Yes, my son, Minseok. Is something wrong?"
It occurs to me, suddenly, that Minseok may not have told Jaeseok about our separation at all. That for all I know, Jaeseok still believes we are happily together, spending each day in bliss. But at the same time...I study him for a curious moment, utterly confused by the sincerity in his eyes, as if Jaeseok truly does think highly of me. The man is smart. He has to know that Jimin and I have had history in the past and that we are together now...
I shake my head with a laugh. "Sorry, I'm just confused. I was under the impression that Minseok was doing well."
"He didn't tell you?"
"Tell you what?"
"Park Jimin," he says, something sour crossing his face. "I've noticed that you're quite close with him and that you, in fact, grew up with him. You must know that he's JM."
Fear seeps into my chest. "Yes."
"And you must know what JM did to my family."
What you did to your family. "Yes," my voice says.
Jaeseok nods slowly and turns his eyes away. I'm unnerved by the weariness on his face, because this is a different kind of exhaustion than what I'm familiar with. He looks as if he's straining under the weight of a dark, brewing hatred inside him. It burns clear as a day in the firm line of his frown, the twitch of his fingers, the sharpness of his gaze as it sweeps distractedly across his surroundings--and he hides it poorly underneath all that fatherly warmth.
"He's hurting my son," says Jaeseok with a dark shake of his head. "I'm sorry Minseok couldn't tell you this himself, but he came home a few nights ago with bloodied hands. He told me Jimin mocked him earlier that morning. Over the phone before he boarded the plane to return home."
The words leave me lightheaded. "What?"
"It upsetted me greatly," says Jaeseok, lips twisting with displeasure. "Jimin called my son to make a big show of spending the night with you. Which I could hardly believe, with how wonderful you've been to Minseok. But my son has gone through his share of hurt, and it struck him. Rumors have already been spreading in his office about your separation. Jimin said a multitude of appalling things that morning as well...things about Seo Junho's passing that I won't mention..."
I blink. Jaeseok must be lying, yet no one but Jimin and I know that we spent the night together. Jimin did leave my hotel room to grab his things before we met at the airport, so Jaeseok could be telling some kind of half-truth. But Jimin would never gloat or mock.
"What I'm trying to tell you, Nari, is that despite everything, Jimin continues to seek out ways to destroy my family." A tremor runs through his voice, and he blinks heavily as if trying to shut off a flood of emotion. "He's done too much. Someone as disgustingly selfish as that--he takes what he can and leaves others to rot. Look at us. First, he destroys my beloved Junho, then with Minseok..." His hands are shaking. "I can't lose my second son."
Sickening realization settles in me. Jaeseok is being entirely truthful. I know because I recognize his fear and his bitterness and his fury at the injustice of what has happened. It's the same storm I used to see in my eyes when I looked in the mirror--on the mornings I woke after the warmth of my father's smile haunted me in my sleep, on the nights when the thought of Jimin terrified me because of the cold space he left behind.
Jaeseok believes exactly what he is saying. In this moment, he is a grieving father who has no idea what he has done.
I don't know how to respond. "What do you want me to do?"
He shakes his head. "Only two things," he says quietly, clasping his hands together. "Please be with my son. He needs you now more than ever. And I say this because he's too proud and too hurt to see it for himself. You know how he is."
"And the second thing?"
Jaeseok's eyes flicker to mine. Even in the light, they're the color of black coffee. "This is for me. Now, I know it's hard to forget a friend you've grown up with. But Jimin is now working directly with Big Hit Entertainment to take away what little I have left of my family. My legacy. I need you to tell me how they plan to do it."
My blood turns to ice. "You want me to be a spy?"
"I want you to protect my family. Our family." He turns away, voice quiet. "He should know that I will not let anyone be taken from me again."
+
I CAN'T STOP trembling.
Kim Changho drops me off at the Big Hit Entertainment headquarters, where Jaeseok expects me to find Park Jimin immediately as a gateway to future conversations about his debuting process. It happens in a haze--one moment I'm gliding across the streets on scarlet leather seats, the next I'm pushing open the doors to the gray-washed labyrinth of Big Hit's halls.
Jimin called my son to make a big show of spending the night with you. Jimin continues to seek out ways to destroy my family. Jimin...
Still in somewhat of a daze, I provide my name to passing staff, who seem familiar enough with who I am to guide me to Jimin's floor. They drop me off at a half-open door of smooth gray wood, where a dance studio within gleams in fluorescent light.
I'm about to step inside when I hear a voice. Jimin's voice, gentle and drawn tight with worry. It dismantles my doubt in seconds.
"...sure everything's okay? I can book a ticket now and—I don't care if anyone sees me—I'm just saying she might want help with the restaurant since the reporters are...what?"
He must be on the phone with Namjoon. I linger outside the door and lean my head back against the wall. Big Hit, reads the black letters printed onto the opposite wall. I drink in the scent of fresh paper and cheap air fresheners from distant studios and copy rooms. The distant chatter of staff and thrum of music.
So this was his life years ago. All those nights I spent on Busan rooftops with rice wine and the stars, he was here.
"Do you need something?"
The voice is low and unfamiliar. A stocky broad-shouldered man has stopped, eyes wide and curious, his skin darkened by the sun. He wears a dark hoodie, one arm balancing a stack of binders in one arm while the other holds an army of take-out bags stained with black bean sauce.
"No, I'm just here to wait for Jimin," I answer.
"Ah, Jiminie?" The man flashes a white grin. "Are you the girl?"
"Hm?"
"Yoo...Yoo Nari! Right?"
I blink, a puzzled smile spreading across my face. "Yes. How did you know?"
He laughs. "Everyone knows. You're the girl who's been with him all this time. Carried him here, in a sense. It's a running joke among our team that we're indebted to you. For supporting him."
My cheeks grow hot. "I didn't do anything."
He just smiles, as if he finds this amusing. "I'm Kim Mooyoung. Jimin's manager," he says. "Let me know if you need anything at all, yeah?"
"Ong. Nice to meet you." The words barely reach him before he's rushing off down the hall. Beside me, the door peels back all the way.
"Ignore him," says Jimin, staring after him. My heart leaps at the sight of him, dressed in dark sweats and a loose shirt, chain sweeping across his chest. "All he does is embarrass me."
I laugh, and he does the same, a kind of pleasant surprise falling over him as his gaze falls softly on mine.
Jimin called my son to make a big show of spending the night with you. But looking at him now, I feel Jaeseok's voice fade into the dark, see the flimsiness of his words as if looking through transparent film.
That's not who he is, I wish I could have said. You don't know him at all. Suddenly, a flood of emotions rush into my chest with such force I feel pain. Terror. Doubt. Confusion. Jaeseok's deep hatred and grief. His smile, haunting me with its sincerity. Everything I've suppressed comes flooding to the surface.
His eyes are mirrors of mine. He reaches for me, tugging me toward him until we're both inside, tucked into the shadows behind the door away from public eye. In the quiet, he wraps his arms around me, pulls me close.
My eyes fall shut, and it strikes me, suddenly, how soft my heart has become with him. How easy it is for him to draw out my emotions, as if everything protecting them turns to ash in his presence. Even now, I feel my throat ache.
He buries his nose in the crook of my neck. "Thank you," he murmurs against my hair.
"For what?"
"For Shinhwa. Namjoon told me." I feel him smile. "I don't deserve you."
Tears sting my eyes. If only you knew where I came from.
He sighs and pulls away, his hands cradling face. Smoothing down my short windswept hair and warming my cheeks. He frowns.
"You're shaking," he says.
I want you to protect my family. Our family.
"I'm just cold," I breathe.
He studies me curiously, then nods towards the door with a tug of his lip. "How did you get up here?"
"The staff know me very well, apparently," I say with a quirk of my brow. "Care to explain?"
"Not really. I'd rather kiss you."
Despite everything, a smile warms my face, and with a touch of my chin, he guides me into a sweet kiss. His hands slide around my neck, his thumbs gentle against my cheeks, and I melt instinctively into his touch, fingers trembling as they slip into his hair, eager to forget. I taste fear on his lips, a kind of desperation set loose beneath his gentle smile. It finds a quiet home in my chest with mine.
My phone buzzes. The sound startles me so much I jump. Jimin laughs at my surprise, his breath stirring my hair as I turn to check.
yoo seungho (little shit)
I frown and pull away. Seungho and I have barely spoken since the incident at the hospital. Jimin senses the change in mood instantly, and we exchange a wary glance.
I take the call. "What's the matter?"
"Where the hell are you?"
Seungho's tone irks me. "Relax. I'm in Gangnam. Why?"
"Get your stuff and meet me at Seoul Station."
My heart stops. Seoul Station means only one thing—a train to Busan. "Why? What happened?"
"Eomma got in a bus accident, Nari," he says sharply. "She's in the hospital."