Question

Jihan stayed silent as we walked to his house.

It wasn't regular walking, or running but power-walking.

I could tell Jihan hadn't seen his dad in a while… had he gone to get the milk? What was even going on? And why did he want to meet me…

Shit, did Jihan's mom tell him that it was me?

I'd checked, I'd made sure there was no camera footage of me going into that room. How could he have found out otherwise?

Besides, it wasn't like I could do it again. The system had updated. They wouldn't let me heal others anymore, not unless they were a part of my crew, and even worse, its effects had been lessened.

Something told me that the healing bean hadn't been meant to be that powerful.

My fingers twitched slightly at the thought. Jihan still had his bandages. I'd removed all of mine from the night before, but I wasn't sure how to slip him a bean without raising suspicion. I'd have to find a way. Later.

For now, we had bigger problems.

We turned the last corner, and Jihan's house came into view.

If you could even call it a house.

The mansion loomed before us, sleek and modern, its massive front gates lined with gold detailing that shimmered under the evening sunset. The driveway stretched wide and immaculate, the kind of thing you'd expect from a billionaire's estate rather than a normal neighborhood home.

But it wasn't the house itself that made me stop in my tracks.

It was what was parked in front of it.

A fleet of black SUVs, at least ten of them, lined the side of the driveway, each one polished to a mirror shine. Their tinted windows swallowed any trace of reflection, giving them an ominous, almost predatory look.

And the men?

They were everywhere.

Dressed in matching black suits, crisp and spotless, with earpieces barely visible beneath their slicked-back hair. They moved in practiced formation, some standing by the vehicles, others stationed near the house entrance, their posture rigid, alert.

Their sunglasses gleamed under the sunlight, covering their eyes even though it wasn't nearly bright enough to warrant them.

Textbook-perfect bodyguards.

It was almost comical how mass-produced they looked, like they'd been ordered in bulk from some elite security agency catalog.

And not just any security. This wasn't the kind of detail you hired for a CEO or a washed-up celebrity. This was high-level, military-grade protection.

I exhaled through my nose, my fingers twitching at my sides.

Jihan's dad wasn't just some rich guy.

He was stupidly rich. Obscenely rich. The kind of rich that didn't just buy mansions but bought the land under them. The kind that needed this level of security just to visit his own son.

I glanced at Jihan.

His expression was unreadable, his gaze locked on the house.

"Let's go inside." He said softly, as the suited men made way for us to go through the gates.

And we entered.

The housekeeper greeted us as usual.

We walked through the front, through the minimalist hallway and then… the main hall.

Jihan quickly came to a stop and so did I.

His mother was there perched precariously upon one of the smaller seats next to the ridiculously wide coffee table. And next to her was him.

Jihan's father.

The moment I laid eyes on him, I understood everything.

He wasn't just rich. He was power.

Not the fragile, paper-thin power of politicians or corporate heirs who relied on names and handshakes to stay relevant. No. This was something else.

Something rooted.

Something dangerous.

He lounged effortlessly in one of the larger chairs, but even sitting down, he owned the room. His suit, deep charcoal, cut with precision, looked expensive in a way that made other expensive suits look cheap. His tie was perfectly knotted, his watch gleamed subtly under the chandelier light, not ostentatious but deliberate. A quiet flex. A reminder.

His posture was relaxed, but it wasn't laziness. It was calculated. Everything this man had on him was calculated.

And then there were his eyes.

Dark. Sharp. Assessing. The kind of gaze that peeled back layers with a single glance, that had measured a thousand men before me and found them lacking.

His features were striking, aged in a way that added to his presence rather than diminished it. There were no signs of softness, no hesitation in the way he held himself. Even his hair, neatly combed back, not a single strand out of place, felt deliberate.

I could see where Jihan had gotten his features from but while they looked weak on him, timid or shy even. On this man? He made them look strong.

But beneath it all, beneath the wealth, the refinement, the unshakable aura of authority…

There was something else.

Something wrong.

The way he held himself, the way his very presence felt too solid, too imposing, as if the air around him was heavier, as if the space he occupied bent subtly to his will.

It was unnatural.

My instincts screamed at me. Not in fear, not exactly, but in recognition.

I'd seen strength before. I'd felt power. But this?

This was different.

Jihan stood rigid beside me, his hands curled into fists at his sides. I couldn't tell if he was angry or just bracing himself.

For a moment, the silence stretched.

Then his father exhaled through his nose, something almost amused flickering in his gaze. He stood, slow and unhurried, and crossed the space between them with measured steps.

And then, he reached out.

A hand on Jihan's shoulder. A firm grip.

"You've grown."

It wasn't affectionate. It wasn't soft.

It was an observation.

Jihan stiffened under the touch, his jaw tightening, but he didn't pull away.

His father let go just as easily, as if he hadn't expected a reaction to begin with. As if this was all just part of the script.

Then, at last, his gaze flicked to me.

A slow, assessing once-over.

And then, with the ghost of a smirk, he spoke again.

"…And you must be Dowan."

I couldn't respond. I wanted to. I wanted to sneer, respond with something snarky… but something about him made me want to curl up somewhere and cry.

This man… this man was Jihan's father?

It was almost like he understood my thoughts as he looked to the coffee table.

"Come," He said. "Let us talk."

Jihan was still stiff beside me, but he moved. He obeyed. His mother did too, shifting slightly as his father took his seat again.

For a moment, it was almost normal.

Almost.

The conversation was easy, too easy. It flowed in a way that felt practiced, like they were reciting lines from a script. His father asked about the house, about school, about Jihan's grades. 

He nodded approvingly when Jihan answered, his expression never shifting too much, his tone never rising or falling.

Jihan's mother spoke as well, but her words were measured, careful. She praised Jihan's studies, mentioned things she knew his father would approve of. There was warmth in her voice, but underneath it… hesitation. Like she was carefully balancing on a tightrope.

Jihan responded politely, keeping his voice even. But I could feel it.

The underlying tension.

The way Jihan's shoulders were just a little too stiff. The way his fingers tapped ever so slightly against his knee, an outlet for something he couldn't express.

And his father?

His father noticed everything.

He never acknowledged it, never called attention to it—but I could see it in his eyes. The sharp, lingering glances. The way his lips curled at the edges whenever Jihan faltered for even a second.

It was like he was testing him. Like he was waiting to see if his son would crack under pressure.

Like this was a game he'd played a thousand times before.

And then, just as smoothly as it had started, it ended.

His father leaned back, exhaling as if the conversation had been nothing more than a casual catch-up.

Then, finally, his gaze turned back to me.

"Dowan," he said. "Come."

It wasn't a request.

Jihan's fingers twitched. He looked like he wanted to say something—but he didn't.

His father was already rising from his seat, already making his way toward the grand staircase. I swallowed thickly and followed, my feet moving before I could think better of it.

The second floor was quiet. Too quiet.

The moment we reached his office, a massive, polished room with floor-to-ceiling windows and a desk that probably cost more than my entire life… he shut the door behind us.

And then—

Silence.

I stood awkwardly in the center of the room, watching as he strode to the bar at the far end. He poured himself a drink, taking his time, before finally turning back to me.

And then, he smiled.

Not friendly. Not warm.

Knowing.

"Tell me," he murmured, swirling his glass. "How did you do it?"

I felt my breath hitch.

"...Do what?"

His smile widened slightly.

"You know what."

His gaze was too sharp, too piercing. I felt stripped bare, like he was peeling me apart layer by layer just by looking at me.

"I must admit," he continued, taking a slow sip of his drink. "I was surprised. I expected my wife to live, of course… I paid for the best care money could buy. But this?" He gestured vaguely. "This was… miraculous."

My stomach twisted.

His smile didn't waver. He took another slow sip of his drink, savoring the moment before answering.

"The nurses said they only saw two visitors." He tilted his head slightly. "Did you really think there would be no cameras at the entrance of a hospital?" He scoffed. "Of course, they aren't accessible to normal people." He swirled the drink in his glass, the ice clinking softly.

"But I am no normal person."

I clenched my jaw. Of course. Of course someone like him would have access to things others didn't. The rules weren't the same for men like him. They never had been.

I inhaled sharply, my fists tightening at my sides.

"You ignored your son for years," I said, voice taut. "While he was being viciously bullied. Your wife was in the hospital, and you weren't even in the country. And now you're back—" My lip curled. "Because you want to know how I cured your wife?"

His expression didn't change, but the air in the room did.

It got heavier.

Colder.

"Don't take that tone with me."

It wasn't a yell. It wasn't even a threat.

It was absolute.

Like the sound of a gavel slamming down in court. Like a door shutting that would never open again.

My breath hitched. I shut up.

His smile returned, faint but unmistakable. He swirled the liquid in his glass again, watching it with vague amusement before finally speaking.

"Jihan's weakness was something I hadn't considered." He exhaled through his nose, as if disappointed. "He wasn't meant to take after his mother, but I suppose…" His gaze flicked downward, lips curling ever so slightly. "There's more of her in him than I expected."

I swallowed hard, my stomach twisting.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

He set his glass down with a quiet clink, fingers tapping against the rim. Then he looked up at me, his expression suddenly sharper.

"But now," he said smoothly, "I don't expect this answer for free."

A pause.

"Tell me how you did it, and in return—" He smiled. Slow. Calculated. "I will tell you about Jihan."

The air in my lungs felt tight.

His eyes gleamed. "And conditionally... I will grant you any one wish you desire."

I stiffened.

I should've expected this. Of course someone like him wouldn't just ask. Of course, he would turn this into a bargain.

This was a trap.

And yet…

The words hung in the air, dangerous, tantalizing.

Any one wish.

I could ask for anything. Money? Power? Protection? A way to break the system's rules?

But more than that…

Jihan.

What did he mean by telling me about Jihan?

I clenched my fists. I needed to be careful.

I needed to choose my words wisely.

"…And if I say no?" I asked, my voice measured.

His smile didn't falter.

"Then you walk away," he said simply. "And you live the rest of your life wondering. So…"

He placed a single hand into his pocket and then looked down at me.

New Event Quest

Choices

1. Choose to tell Jihyun Yoo ą̸͇̙̝̔̊̈͂̆̾̀̀̋͗͒̈̓͠b̵̢̲͊͗̏ǫ̸̡̛͚̜̳̬̹͉͎̭̹̓̆̀̊̅̾͒͘u̵̡͇̜͍͙̺͔̯͍̠̻̰͉̙̣̓ͅť̷̢̨̢̡͎̟̗͓͖͕̟̟̳͓̝͊̋͐̏̕ ̷̨̬͉͙̝̼̳͓̟͓̲̉͌͆̓̉͒̒̍̑ͅt̴̢̹͕̤̱̐̎̇̇̃̇̈̕͠h̵̺͎̞̪͕̮̳̒̂̈́͊̄̉́̆̌̿͑̀͠͠͝ẹ̸͙̪̐̄͗͐̇̎͒̚ ̵̧̢̞̙̩͈̯̝̫͍͈͉͈̥͌̒̓̓̚s̴̺͍̼̝͓͛̾ͅy̵̡̨͎̤̜̗̟̼̩̰̫͖̩͕͚̞̍ͅs̵̢̢̡̭̩̳̝̰̈́͂̑̐̅̀̑̍̔̎̂͐̾̕͜͝t̵̢͇̘̲̦̞͈͙̱̠̺̍͐̓͌̅͐̌́̂̔̈́́̚͜͝͝ę̷̢̠͙̜̊m̵̛̦͖͋͆̾̅̉̌̄̓͌͝.̷̧̛̘̖̘͉̠̣̑͂͒̅̑

2. Refuse to tell Jihyun Yoo about the system.

Rewards for 1: ?̷̪̫̎̓̆?̴̪̆̓͆̈͝?̵̱̫̤̂̎́́

Rewards for 2: 1 Master card

"...What will it be?"

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The window's glitching?! Le gasp!

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