The mountain roads twisted like veins carved through flesh.
Yoochan drove with no headlights—just the pale blue glow of a GPS beacon Sooyoung had hardwired to Jiwoo's stolen van. It blinked steadily, each pulse a heartbeat away from vengeance.
The silence in the car was alive.
Every bump, every hiss of tire on gravel, sounded like breath in the dark.
He remembered being twelve—still Ji-hoon, still hopeful—stealing canned peaches for his mother's birthday. They'd sat in a one-room flat with a broken fan, eating from the tin with plastic spoons.
She'd smiled then.
Now she was bleeding somewhere in these woods, because he'd dragged her into this world again.
I promised her a better life.
I gave her a target on her back.
He tightened his grip on the wheel.
The van came into view near a burned-out rest stop, parked crooked beside a shack. No guards. No lights. Just fog licking the windows like tongues.
He killed the engine, got out, and slid the pistol from his coat.
No backup. No turning back.
---
Inside the shack, it smelled like mildew and gasoline.
He moved slow—quiet—memories from Ji-hoon's days doing corporate black-bag work guiding his feet. The layout was bare: a cot, two folding chairs, a pile of fast food wrappers.
And in the corner, bound to a rusted pipe—Miyoung.
Her eyes were swollen. Lip split. But alive.
She looked up as he crouched beside her. "Ji-hoon…?"
His breath hitched. She remembered.
He cut the zip ties with trembling hands. "I'm getting you out of here."
But before she could answer—
Click.
A red dot hovered on her forehead.
Jiwoo stepped out of the shadows, clapping slowly. "Touching. Really."
Yoochan stood between the dot and his mother. "This ends now."
Jiwoo's smile was glass. "No. This begins now. You thought this was a rescue? This is a test. You brought no guards. No press. Just yourself. You passed, hyung."
Yoochan blinked. "What?"
Jiwoo's eyes glittered. "I needed to see how far you'd go. Now I know: you'd burn everything. Just like me."
He lowered the rifle, gesturing to the exit. "Take her. She's yours. For now."
Yoochan didn't move. "What's your game?"
Jiwoo's grin widened. "Same as yours. I'm just faster."
---
Back in Seoul, the city was bleeding headlines.
KANG MOTHER KIDNAPPED, RELEASED—WHO PROFITS?
NEW HEIR CLAIMS TORTURE—YOOCHAN SILENT.
FAMILY FRACTURES: SOOMIN DENOUNCES 'CORPORATE TYRANNY.'
Soomin sat at a café in Gangnam, sipping an espresso like he hadn't just fed Yoochan to the wolves. Paparazzi swarmed as he waved his statement in front of cameras.
"I love my family, but enough is enough. Yoochan's gone rogue. He's weaponizing tragedy for control."
Behind him, a sleek woman watched in silence—Hyejin, their sister, lips tight.
"You're siding with Jiwoo?" she asked after the cameras left.
Soomin shrugged. "He's charming. And charming wins. Yoochan's too cold, too distant. He leads like a ghost."
"He bleeds like one too," Hyejin muttered.
---
At the penthouse, Miyoung slept.
Yoochan stood at the window, eyes on the skyline.
Sooyoung entered without knocking. "She's stable. Bruised ribs, minor concussion. She'll be okay."
He didn't respond.
"Jiwoo let you take her."
"Yes."
"He wants something."
"He wants the throne."
Sooyoung crossed her arms. "Then he'll come for it. And this time, he won't aim at her."
Yoochan finally turned, his face blank. "He'll aim at me."
She nodded. "And you'll need allies."
Yoochan looked past her, toward the file she'd left on the table.
It was thick. Stamped in red. The title read:
OPERATION: SANDGLASS
Target: Kang Joonho.
---
Elsewhere, Joonho tore through his office.
Glass shattered. A monitor cracked. Blood slicked his knuckles.
"Another heir? Bullshit!"
His assistant cowered near the door. "Sir… the shareholders are concerned. They want proof of loyalty."
"I built this empire!" he bellowed. "They owe me!"
But even as he roared, his reflection in the broken glass didn't scream back.
It smiled.
Joonho stepped back, rattled.
Was that Yoochan?
Or… Ji-hoon?