The Kang mansion was never quiet, but nights like this made it feel almost warm.
Golden lights spilled from the crystal chandelier above the long dining table, reflecting off polished marble floors and expensive glassware. Servants moved silently in the background, placing dishes with practiced precision, but their presence barely registered. What mattered—at least for a fleeting moment—was the illusion of family.
Jae-Hyun leaned back lazily in his chair, one arm draped over the backrest, his attention fixed on his phone. His fingers moved quickly across the screen, a faint smirk playing on his lips as if whatever he was reading amused him far more than anything happening at the table.
Across from him sat Min-Jae.
Straight posture. Calm expression. Perfect.
If Jae-Hyun was chaos wrapped in charm, Min-Jae was discipline carved into flesh.
"You'll ruin your eyes at this rate," Min-Jae said, his voice gentle but firm as he set down his chopsticks.
Jae-Hyun didn't even look up. "I'll survive."
Their mother sighed softly, though there was no real annoyance in her expression. She reached over, placing a piece of meat into Jae-Hyun's bowl. "At least eat properly. You've barely touched your food."
Jae-Hyun finally glanced up, offering her a lazy smile. "That's because you keep feeding me like I'm still a kid."
"To me, you'll always be one," she replied warmly.
Min-Jae watched the exchange quietly, his lips curving into a faint smile, but there was something behind his eyes—something Jae-Hyun never bothered to notice.
Their father cleared his throat, the sound enough to shift the entire atmosphere.
The warmth vanished.
"Min-Jae," he said, his tone sharp and precise, "have you reviewed the documents I sent you this afternoon?"
"Yes, Father. I'll finalize everything by tomorrow morning."
A nod. Approval.
"And you?" His father's gaze shifted to Jae-Hyun, colder now.
Jae-Hyun didn't flinch. "I didn't check."
Silence fell.
Not the comfortable kind.
The heavy kind.
"You didn't check," his father repeated, as though testing the words.
"Nope."
Their mother frowned slightly. "Jae-Hyun—"
But he cut her off with a shrug. "What's the point? Hyung is already handling everything. He's the perfect son, remember?"
Min-Jae's expression tightened slightly. "That's not—"
"It's fine," Jae-Hyun interrupted, standing up before anyone could say more. "You all enjoy your perfect dinner. I've lost my appetite."
Without waiting for permission—or consequence—he walked away.
Behind him, the silence lingered.
The hallway outside his room was quiet, dimly lit by soft wall lamps. Jae-Hyun shoved his hands into his pockets, his earlier smirk long gone.
He wasn't angry.
Not really.
This was normal.
It had always been like this.
Min-Jae, the responsible one.
Min-Jae, the heir.
Min-Jae, the son their father could rely on.
And Jae-Hyun?
He was just… there.
The one who didn't care.
The one who never tried.
At least, that's what everyone believed.
As he passed his brother's room, he slowed.
The door was slightly open.
That wasn't unusual.
What was unusual… was the silence inside.
Min-Jae was never silent.
Not completely.
Jae-Hyun hesitated, then pushed the door open just a little more.
What he saw made him freeze.
Min-Jae sat on the floor, his back against the bed, his head lowered.
His shoulders trembled.
For a moment, Jae-Hyun thought he was mistaken.
Min-Jae didn't cry.
Min-Jae didn't break.
But the quiet sound that filled the room—barely audible, almost suffocated—proved otherwise.
Jae-Hyun's chest tightened.
He had never seen his brother like this before.
Not once.
He didn't step inside.
Didn't say anything.
For reasons he couldn't explain, he simply stood there… watching.
Confused.
Uncertain.
And for the first time in a long time—
Concerned.
Min-Jae wiped his face quickly, as if trying to erase any trace of weakness. His movements were rushed, desperate to regain control.
That's when Jae-Hyun quietly stepped back.
And walked away.
He didn't ask.
Didn't question.
Didn't interfere.
Because that's what he always did.
Ignored what didn't concern him.
Turned away from things that felt too complicated.
But that night…
For the first time—
Something didn't sit right.
The next morning, everything returned to normal.
Min-Jae was composed again.
Perfect again.
Untouchable again.
At breakfast, he spoke calmly with their father about business matters, discussing numbers and strategies as if the night before had never happened.
Jae-Hyun watched him in silence, stirring his coffee absentmindedly.
"Stop staring," Min-Jae said without looking at him.
Jae-Hyun smirked. "Can't I admire my hardworking brother?"
Min-Jae finally glanced up, his expression unreadable. "You're terrible at pretending."
"Good," Jae-Hyun replied. "I'd hate to be fake."
Something flickered in Min-Jae's eyes.
Gone just as quickly.
"You should come to the company today," Min-Jae said after a moment. "At least learn something."
Jae-Hyun scoffed. "And ruin your perfect image? No thanks."
"It's not about image."
"It is to Father."
Min-Jae didn't argue.
Because they both knew it was true.
That was the last normal day.
Jae-Hyun didn't know it then.
Didn't realize that the quiet moment outside that door…
Would be the last time he ever saw his brother vulnerable.
Alive.
If he had known…
Maybe things would have been different.
Maybe he would have stepped inside.
Maybe he would have asked.
Maybe
But regrets only come after everything is already gone.
By the time the truth arrived…
It was too late.