The bookstore in Gwanghwamun was the kind of place where time moved differently, quiet aisles, the smell of paper and dust, rows of books that had outlived their authors. Ji-hoon found the architecture section easily, and the woman waiting there was exactly what he'd expected: mid-twenties, glasses, notebook clutched like a shield, the anxious energy of someone about to betray a confidence.
Jung So-ra looked up as he approached, her eyes widening slightly when she saw his security detail.
"Mr. Kang. Thank you for coming. I wasn't sure you would."
"You said you had information about the board meeting." Ji-hoon kept his voice low, aware of Choi hovering three meters away, pretending to browse structural engineering textbooks. "I'm listening."
So-ra glanced around nervously, then pulled out her phone, showing him a voice recording file.
"I have a source inside Kang Group. Someone who was in the preliminary meeting this morning, before the official board session." She lowered her voice. "Your brother isn't just proposing to distance the company from your investigation. He's planning to discredit you entirely."
Ji-hoon's stomach tightened. "How?"
"By suggesting your mental state is compromised. That's your suicide attempt," She faltered, seeing his expression. "I'm sorry, I know it's personal. But he's planning to argue that your recent behavior, the obsessive investigation, the confrontational stance with industry leaders, the refusal to consider company interests, all indicate psychological instability following your accident."
The words hit like physical blows.
His brother was going to use his suicide attempt as a weapon. Paint him as unstable, unreliable, a liability to be managed rather than a voice to be heard.
It was brilliant, in its cruelty, because there was just enough truth in it to be believable.
"He has a psychiatrist prepared to testify," So-ra continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Dr. Yoon Jae-sung. He'll provide an expert opinion that individuals recovering from severe depression and suicide attempts often exhibit obsessive behaviors, fixation on single issues, difficulty accepting criticism"
"Stop." Ji-hoon's voice came out rougher than intended. "Why are you telling me this?"
So-ra met his eyes, and he saw genuine conviction there. "Because I covered the original Hannam Tower story. I interviewed the families being evacuated. Spoke to Mrs. Park Sun-hee." She paused. "She told me about her grandson. About the balcony that was going to collapse. About how you saved them."
She pulled out her notebook, showing him pages of handwritten notes.
"I've been investigating construction safety for two years. Every lead I followed got buried. Every source I found got paid off, transferred, or suddenly stopped talking. I watched this industry kill people through negligence, and nobody cared because the money was too good and the power too entrenched." Her hands were shaking slightly. "Then you, a chaebol heir with everything to lose, you actually did something. You broke the wall I couldn't even scratch."
"So this is what? Gratitude?"
"This is journalism. Real journalism, not the corporate press release recycling my editor wants." She straightened her shoulders. "Your brother is going to destroy your credibility this afternoon. I'm giving you a warning so you can defend yourself."
"Why not just publish the story? Expose what he's planning?"
"Because I have no proof except an anonymous source who won't go on record. If I publish now, your brother denies it, I lose my source, and you still get blindsided." She looked at him earnestly. "But if you know it's coming, you can prepare. You can counter it."
Ji-hoon considered this. A journalist offering him ammunition against his own family. It should feel like betrayal. Instead, it felt like the first honest thing anyone had given him in weeks.
"What do you want in return?" he asked.
"An exclusive interview. After the board meeting. Whatever happens, I want to tell your story. The real one, not the sanitized version the business press is peddling." She paused. "And I want your help continuing the construction safety investigation. You found patterns in three weeks that I couldn't find in two years. Teach me how."
It was a fair trade, information for access. And Ji-hoon needed allies who weren't afraid to dig deeper.
"Deal," he said. "But not until after the gala. Seven days. Can you wait that long?"
"I've waited two years. Seven more days won't kill me." So-ra extended her hand. "One more thing. The psychiatrist your brother hired? Dr. Yoon Jae-sung? He has a history. Three malpractice complaints, all settled quietly. One involving testimony that was later proven false in a custody case. He's not exactly credible if you know where to look."
She handed him a USB drive. "Everything I found on him. Use it wisely."
After she left, Ji-hoon stood in the architecture section, surrounded by books about buildings and foundations and structures that were meant to last, holding a USB drive full of ammunition against his own brother.
Choi appeared at his shoulder. "Trust her?"
"She's using me for a story."
"That's not an answer to my question."
"Then no. I don't trust her. But I trust the information." Ji-hoon pocketed the USB drive. "Which is more than I can say about my family right now."
The board meeting was at three o'clock.
Ji-hoon arrived at two forty-five, uninvited but undeterred, his security detail creating a small spectacle in the Kang Group headquarters lobby.
The receptionist looked panicked. "Mr. Kang, Ji-hoon-ssi, the board meeting is private..."
"I'm aware. Please inform my father I'm here."
"But he specifically said..."
"I know what he said." Ji-hoon kept his voice pleasant and professional. "But board policy allows any family member with more than a five percent stake to attend meetings in an observer capacity. I own seven percent. A birthday gift from my grandfather when I turned eighteen. So please, inform my father that I'm exercising my right to observe."
It was a bluff. He had no idea if that policy existed. But it sounded plausible, and the receptionist clearly didn't know either.
She made a frantic call. Two minutes later, his father appeared, face tight with controlled anger.
"What are you doing here?"
"Observing. Is that a problem?"
"This is not the time for games, Ji-hoon."
"I'm not playing." He met his father's eyes. "You're having a board meeting about my investigation, my credibility, my role in this family. I think I deserve to be present."
"You think you deserve..." His father cut himself off, aware of the lobby staff watching. "Fine. You can observe. But you don't speak. You don't interrupt. And when this is over, we're going to have a very serious conversation about boundaries."
"Looking forward to it."
The boardroom was exactly as Ji-hoon remembered from his one previous visit years ago: a massive table, leather chairs, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Seoul. Twelve board members were already seated. His brother sat at the chairman's right hand, expression carefully neutral when Ji-hoon entered.
But Ji-hoon saw the flicker of surprise. The slight tightening around his eyes.
You didn't expect me to show up, Ji-hoon thought. You wanted to do this behind my back.
Minister Yoon was there, giving Ji-hoon a slight nod. Two other board members, Ji-hoon recognized from family functions. The rest were corporate veterans, people who'd served under his grandfather, who viewed the Kang sons as assets to be managed rather than people to be respected.
His father took his seat at the head of the table. "Gentlemen, we have an unexpected observer today. My second son, Kang Ji-hoon, has chosen to exercise his right to attend. He will not be participating in the discussion."
Ji-won's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
"Let's begin," the chairman continued. "The purpose of this meeting is to address the family's public position regarding the ongoing construction safety investigation. Ji-won has prepared a proposal. The floor is yours."
His brother stood, activating the presentation screen with practiced ease.
"Thank you, Father. Esteemed board members." Ji-won's voice was smooth and confident. "As you know, recent events have placed Kang Group in a difficult position. The Hannam Construction acquisition has been suspended. Our stock price has fallen eight percent. And our family name has become associated with a political investigation that, while well-intentioned, has created significant complications for our business relationships."
He pulled up a slide showing stock charts and market analysis.
"The construction industry represents forty-two percent of our B2B partnerships and thirty-seven percent of our supply chain relationships. The current investigation has strained those relationships to a breaking point. Several major partners have privately indicated they may seek alternative suppliers if we continue to be associated with what they view as an adversarial regulatory stance."
Another slide, a list of companies, with estimated revenue impact.
"Potential annual revenue loss: 1.2 trillion won. Job cuts necessary to offset: approximately 3,000 positions across our subsidiaries."
The numbers hit the room like a bomb. Board members shifted uncomfortably.
"Now, I want to be clear," Ji-won continued, his tone carefully measured. "I support construction safety reform. We all do. The issue isn't the goal, it's the method. And specifically, the appearance that Kang Group, through my brother's very public involvement, is leading a crusade against the entire construction industry."
He looked directly at Ji-hoon for the first time.
"My brother's efforts have been admirable. Passionate. He identified real problems and brought them to light. But passion without strategy creates collateral damage. And our employees, our shareholders, our business partners—they're the ones suffering that damage."
"What are you proposing?" one of the board members asked.
"A clear public statement that Kang Group supports regulatory reform but does not endorse the specific methods employed in the current investigation. My brother acted independently, not as a representative of our company. And that going forward, our family's official position on construction safety will be communicated through me, as the designated heir and COO, rather than through individual family members pursuing personal agendas."
It was a surgical strike. Not disowning Ji-hoon completely, but neutering him politically while claiming the safety narrative for Ji-won himself.
"Additionally," Ji-won continued, "I've asked Dr. Yoon Jae-sung to provide expert context on some behavioral patterns we should be aware of."
A man Ji-hoon hadn't noticed stood from the corner, fifties, gray suit, the professional confidence of someone used to being paid for opinions.
"Dr. Yoon is a psychiatrist specializing in post-trauma behavioral psychology," Ji-won said. "Given my brother's recent... medical history... I thought it prudent to consult with an expert about the psychological factors that might be influencing his recent actions."
Ji-hoon's blood ran cold. This was it. The attack So-ra had warned him about.
Dr. Yoon approached the table, his voice smooth and clinical. "Thank you, Mr. Kang. I want to emphasize that I haven't personally treated your brother, so this isn't a clinical diagnosis. But based on the behavioral patterns described, the suicide attempt, followed by sudden obsessive focus on a single issue, confrontational stance with authority figures, difficulty accepting criticism or considering alternative viewpoints, these are textbook indicators of what we call post-traumatic fixation."
"Meaning?" one board member asked.
"Meaning that individuals recovering from severe depression and suicide attempts often develop intense, sometimes irrational fixations as a coping mechanism. The fixation provides purpose, direction, and a reason to keep living. But it can also lead to poor judgment, inability to see broader consequences, and if left unchecked, further psychological deterioration."
The room was silent.
"My professional opinion," Dr. Yoon concluded, "is that Kang Ji-hoon would benefit from continued psychiatric evaluation and possibly temporary restrictions on making major decisions until his mental health is more stable. For his own protection, of course."
Of course, Ji-hoon thought bitterly. Always for my own protection.
His father looked uncomfortable. Minister Yoon's expression was carefully blank. The other board members were nodding along, accepting this neat explanation for why the invisible second son had suddenly become inconvenient.
"Thank you, Dr. Yoon," Ji-won said. "I want to reiterate, this isn't about punishing my brother. It's about protecting him, protecting our family, and protecting the thousands of people who depend on Kang Group for their livelihoods. I move that we adopt the proposal as stated."
"Second," one of the board members said immediately.
This was the moment. Ji-hoon could stay silent, accept the role they'd written for him, unstable, well-meaning, but ultimately unreliable.
Or he could break his father's rule and speak.
He chose to speak.
"Point of order," Ji-hoon said, his voice cutting through the room.
Everyone turned to stare.
His father's expression darkened. "Ji-hoon, you agreed."
"To observe. And I have been. I've observed my brother present a compelling case for why inconvenient truths should be buried when they threaten profit margins. I've observed a psychiatrist who's never met me provide a diagnosis that conveniently labels me mentally unstable. And I've observed this board preparing to prioritize business relationships over the eight thousand families currently living in buildings that might collapse."
"That's enough," his father warned.
"No, it's not." Ji-hoon stood, and he realized his hands weren't shaking. His voice wasn't wavering. He felt cold, calm, and certain. "Dr. Yoon, was it? I have some questions about your professional opinion."
The psychiatrist's smile was condescending. "Of course, though I should mention I'm not here to..."
"How much did my brother pay you for this expert testimony?"
The room went silent.
Dr. Yoon's smile froze. "I don't appreciate the implication"
"It's not an implication. It's a question." Ji-hoon pulled out his phone, accessing the files from So-ra's USB drive. "Because according to the Korean Medical Association's ethics guidelines, psychiatrists aren't supposed to provide clinical opinions about individuals they haven't personally evaluated. Yet here you are, diagnosing me with 'post-traumatic fixation' based on secondhand descriptions."
"I clearly stated this wasn't a clinical diagnosis"
"But you did state it was your 'professional opinion.' Which carries weight. Authority. And I'm curious if that professional opinion is influenced by your history of providing convenient testimony in exchange for payment."
Ji-hoon looked at the board members. "Dr. Yoon has been named in three separate malpractice complaints, all settled out of court. One involved testimony in a custody case that was later proven to be based on fabricated evidence. The medical board investigated but found insufficient grounds for license revocation. Interesting that my brother chose him specifically, don't you think?"
Dr. Yoon's face had gone red. "This is defamation."
"It's public record. Would you like me to email the board copies of the settlement agreements?" Ji-hoon's voice was perfectly pleasant. "I'm happy to provide documentation."
His brother stood abruptly. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. Paranoid accusations. Conspiracy theories. This is not rational behavior."
"Rational behavior is hiring a discredited psychiatrist to declare your brother mentally unfit so you can claim the safety narrative for yourself?" Ji-hoon turned to face him directly. "Because that's what this is really about, isn't it, hyung? Not protecting the company. Not my mental health. This is about you trying to salvage your reputation after the Hannam deal fell apart."
"The Hannam deal fell apart because you sabotaged it."
"The Hannam deal fell apart because it was built on fraud. Fraud that killed three people in the original timeline," Ji-hoon caught himself, adrenaline making him careless. "That would have killed people if those buildings hadn't been evacuated. Mrs. Park Sun-hee's seven-year-old grandson plays on a balcony that was three weeks away from collapse. Are you seriously standing here telling this board that protecting our business relationships is more important than that child's life?"
Ji-won's expression was thunderous. "You don't get to weaponize children to win arguments."
"And you don't get to weaponize my suicide attempt to silence me." Ji-hoon's voice dropped, quiet and deadly. "I tried to kill myself. You're right. I was depressed, desperate, drowning in the knowledge that I was invisible to this family. But I survived. And what I learned from surviving is that I'd rather die standing for something that matters than live kneeling to protect profit margins."
The room was absolutely silent.
Minister Yoon spoke for the first time. "Chairman, if I may?" He looked at Ji-hoon with new respect. "Your son raises valid points. The psychiatrist's testimony is questionable at best. And the ethical question he poses, about prioritizing business relationships over public safety, that's not something this board can dismiss lightly. Not with the current investigation so public."
One of the other board members nodded slowly. "The optics are terrible. If we publicly distance ourselves from the investigation now, it looks like we're siding with the corrupt companies over safety reform. That's... not a good position."
"Exactly my concern," Minister Yoon continued. "I understand the business pressures. But we're also members of Korean society. We have responsibilities beyond shareholder value. And young Ji-hoon has articulated those responsibilities rather effectively, I think."
His father's jaw was tight. He looked between his sons, Ji-won, standing rigid with barely controlled fury, and Ji-hoon, calm and certain in a way the chairman had never seen before.
"Vote," the chairman said finally. "All in favor of Ji-won's proposal to officially distance Kang Group from the current investigation?"
Three hands rose. Including Ji-won's.
"Opposed?"
Seven hands. Including Minister Yoon's.
"Abstentions?"
Two hands.
The proposal had failed.
Ji-won's face went white with shock and rage. He'd been so certain, had orchestrated this entire meeting to publicly neuter his brother, and instead
"Meeting adjourned," the chairman said, his voice heavy. "Ji-won, Ji-hoon, my office. Now."
The chairman's private office was smaller than the boardroom, more intimate, with family photos on the walls that Ji-hoon had never appeared in. He stood by the window while his brother paced like a caged animal and their father sat behind his desk, looking older than Ji-hoon had ever seen him.
"That," Ji-won said finally, his voice shaking with controlled rage, "was the most selfish, destructive thing you've ever done. You just publicly humiliated me in front of the entire board."
"You tried to have me declared mentally unfit," Ji-hoon shot back. "What did you expect? Gratitude?"
"I expected you to have the decency to let the adults handle this."
"By 'adults' you mean you? The one who just spent 3.2 trillion won on a company built on fraud?"
"ENOUGH." The chairman's voice cracked like a whip. Both sons fell silent. "Ji-won, hiring that psychiatrist was a mistake. A serious one. It made you look desperate and vindictive."
"Father..."
"I'm not finished." He turned to Ji-hoon. "And you. Showing up uninvited. Publicly attacking your brother. Airing family business in front of the board. That was equally unacceptable."
"He was trying to destroy my credibility."
"So you destroyed his instead? Is that your solution? An eye for an eye until this family tears itself apart?" The chairman stood, moving to the window, looking out over Seoul. "I had two sons. One was brilliant, driven, everything I hoped an heir would be. The other was..." He paused, searching for words.
"Invisible," Ji-hoon finished quietly. "The spare. The disappointment. I know what I was."
"That's not what I was going to say." His father turned, and there was something raw in his expression. "You were sensitive. Gentle. The kind of son who cried when we donated your old toys, because you worried they'd be lonely in someone else's home. Your mother and I, we didn't know how to raise that kind of son. So we... stopped trying."
The admission hung in the air.
"I failed you, Ji-hoon. Long before your suicide attempt. I failed to see you, to understand you, to give you a place in this family where you could matter." He looked between his sons. "And now you're both brilliant. Both driven. Both are fighting for what they believe is right. And instead of being proud of that, I'm watching you destroy each other."
Ji-won's expression had shifted, something complicated and painful flickering across his face.
"What do you want from us?" Ji-hoon asked quietly.
"I want you to stop treating each other as enemies. You're brothers. You're supposed to be allies, not rivals." The chairman moved back to his desk, suddenly looking exhausted. "Ji-won, you're still the heir. That hasn't changed. But Ji-hoon is right. the Hannam deal was your failure. Own it. Learn from it. Don't try to bury it by silencing the person who exposed it."
He turned to Ji-hoon. "And you. You want to matter? Fine. You matter. You've proven that. But mattering comes with responsibility. You can't just blow up the family's business relationships because you're on a moral crusade. Every action has consequences that affect thousands of people. Learn to balance conviction with strategy."
"Like you do?" Ji-hoon asked. "By staying silent when it's politically convenient?"
"Like I do by keeping this company alive through five different administrations and two economic crises." His father's voice was hard. "You think I don't care about safety? About ethics? I care. But I also care about the fifteen thousand people who work for this company. The families who depend on their salaries. The supply chain partners who'd go bankrupt if we failed. It's easy to be righteous when you're not responsible for anyone but yourself."
The words hit harder than Ji-hoon expected.
Because they were true.
"So what now?" Ji-won asked, his voice tight.
"Now you both go to the Youth Foundation gala in seven days. You represent this family with dignity and professionalism. You don't undermine each other. You don't compete for attention. You act like brothers, even if you have to fake it." The chairman looked between them. "After that, we'll discuss your roles going forward. But for one night, I need you to prove you can coexist without destroying each other. Can you do that?"
Ji-hoon looked at his brother. Saw the resentment there, the wounded pride, but also, maybe the faint ghost of something else. The memory of when they'd been kids, before competition and expectations had turned them into strangers.
"I can try," Ji-hoon said.
Ji-won was silent for a long moment. Then: "Fine. But after the gala, we're done pretending. You go your way, I go mine, and we stop interfering in each other's territories."
"Agreed."
It wasn't forgiveness. Wasn't even a truce.
But it was enough to survive one more night.
Ji-hoon left Kang Group headquarters as the sun was setting, Seoul glowing gold and purple in the fading light. His security detail flanked him as he walked to the car, and Choi's expression suggested he'd heard everything that happened inside.
"Rough day?" Choi asked.
"I've had worse."
"That's concerning, given what I just witnessed."
Ji-hoon's phone buzzed. Multiple messages:
Sera:My father just called. Said you were "unexpectedly formidable" at the board meeting. High praise. Tailor appointment in 20 minutes, don't be late!
Min-jae:I'm taking the Singapore job. I'm sorry. But I'll send you everything I have before I go. Keep fighting.
Jung So-ra (Reporter):Heard the board vote went your way. Congratulations. My exclusive interview offer still stands. After the gala?
Unknown number:You won today. Enjoy it. It won't last. Next time, we won't be so gentle.
Ji-hoon stared at the last message, his jaw tightening.
They weren't done. Whoever was behind the threats, the intimidation, the attempts to bury the investigation, they were still out there.
Still watching.
Still waiting.
"Everything okay?" Choi asked.
"No," Ji-hoon said honestly. "But when has it ever been?"
He got in the car, heading toward Cheongdam-dong and the tailor appointment where Sera would teach him how to look like he belonged in a world he was actively trying to change.
Seven days until the gala.
Seven days until he'd have to stand beside his brother and pretend they were family instead of rivals.
Seven days until the entire Seoul elite would be watching, evaluating, deciding whether the invisible second son was worth paying attention to.
Or worth destroying.
To be continued...
Author's Note:
The board meeting showdown is done... Ji-hoon won the battle, but the war is far from over. His brother has been humiliated publicly. The construction industry is mobilizing against him. And someone out there is getting more aggressive with their threats.
But he also has allies now: Sera, Minister Yoon, even his father (grudgingly). The question is: will it be enough?
Hint for Chapter 11: The tailor appointment with Sera (and waltz lessons), Ji-hoon discovers who's been sending the threats. A revelation about the original Ji-hoon's death that changes everything
💬 Comment - Who do you think is behind the threats?
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Question for readers: Should Ji-hoon tell Sera the truth about his reincarnation? Or keep it secret forever? Drop your thoughts in the comments!
Next chapter drops tomorrow at 10 PM
The game is just beginning. And Ji-hoon is learning to play for keeps.