“…Baek Yeonjun didn’t say anything unusual?”
Beomwook was startled by his own words and straightened up from the slight lean he’d fallen into. He’d only had one glass of wine — he couldn’t possibly be drunk. So why. Choi Myeongjin also froze for a brief moment, looking mildly surprised, then took his hand off his phone and turned to answer.
“Ah…, he asked whether it was certain there was no one inside the room.”
“……”
“And he asked whether the security personnel standing outside were people he could trust.”
It wasn’t what he’d expected to hear — and yet, a clear image of Yeonjun, entirely consistent with himself, formed in Beomwook’s mind. Strangely, it settled something in him. At the same time, the corners of Beomwook’s lips moved, just slightly. He must be drunk. So many exhausting things had happened today that the alcohol must have hit faster than usual, loosening the tension from his body and making him feel all these strange things. Definitely. That had to be it.
“I see. Please keep checking on him — we can’t know how things will unfold.”
Beomwook turned his head to the side as he spoke, feeling heat rise to his face without warning. Choi Myeongjin either didn’t notice or chose not to show it, and simply said he understood before shifting his gaze back to the list open on his laptop.
Beomwook had a high tolerance for alcohol. No matter how tired he was, there was no way a single glass of wine could make his face run warm. Was it the toll of experiencing one incomprehensible thing after another? Beomwook looked down absently at his wine glass, then noticed his phone on the table lighting up.
If it had been a call, there would have been vibration. But the screen just kept blinking in short bursts. A message. Who could it be? Messages almost never came to his personal phone. He was reaching out toward the table for it when —
“And — I passed along your contact information to Baek Yeonjun.”
“…What are you talking about.”
Beomwook’s hand stopped mid-reach, and he turned to face Myeongjin. He’d never given the order to pass along his number — let alone told anyone to share it with Yeonjun. The number of people who had his personal contact information could be counted on one hand — Choi Myeongjin and a handful of close confidants, fewer than five. As he watched Beomwook’s expression growing increasingly rigid, Choi Myeongjin recalled the conversation he’d had with Baek Yeonjun just before coming here.
“Oh! Secretary Choi! There’s actually something I forgot. The Executive Director said to reach out to you for his contact — said he’d give it to me in the car, but things got so hectic……”
Myeongjin had just finished showing Yeonjun around the suite and was about to step out when Yeonjun had casually stopped him, mentioning he’d forgotten something. Faced with Baek Yeonjun’s natural, easy smile, Myeongjin hadn’t questioned it at all and handed over Beomwook’s contact. If Beomwook hadn’t given Yeonjun his business card, then the intention must surely have been to pass along his personal number — that logic had only made Myeongjin less suspicious, not more.
“…I apologize, Executive Director. It seems Baek Yeonjun lied in order to get your contact information.”
Choi Myeongjin lowered his head quickly. He’d been taken in by Baek Yeonjun’s shameless act. He couldn’t believe he’d made a mistake like this. “Thank you! I’ll reach out to the Executive Director myself!” — the image of Baek Yeonjun’s grinning face as he said it was still clear as day. Where had Do Beomwook found someone like that? Myeongjin didn’t know the full details of what had happened today, but he’d concluded that Baek Yeonjun was, without question, not someone with an ordinary temperament.
But from Myeongjin, head bowed, no response came. That was strange. Do Beomwook was calm and rational — but when it came to incidents that were clearly the result of someone’s mistake, he always addressed it directly and gave clear instructions for cleanup. Eventually, Myeongjin’s head, full of confusion, slowly lifted.
“…Executive Director?”
Beomwook was staring at his phone in silence. It was far too piercing an expression to be simply looking at a screen. Myeongjin, now fully upright, slowly looked Beomwook over — just sitting there in silence, phone in hand, saying nothing.
The furrow between his brows was deep, as though he’d seen something he shouldn’t have. It was the kind of expression that had only appeared in the very distant past — when he was growing up as the heir to Beomsanpa, being put through relentless training. But his pupils were trembling, just slightly. Unable to properly ask what was wrong, Myeongjin turned his gaze back to the press list spread open on his laptop screen. There was too much to do to stop and press him about it.
Beomwook lifted the phone that had blinked a few times and gone still. There were five messages in total from an unsaved number. He couldn’t understand why anyone would send five messages when he hadn’t even read the first one, let alone replied — but he checked the unread notifications first.
[Executive Director, it’s me, Baek Yeonjun.] 8:10 PM
[I wanted to reach you, so I told a little fib to Secretary Choi.] 8:10 PM
Of course it was Baek Yeonjun. Up until now, aside from Choi Myeongjin, not a single person had ever exchanged messages with Beomwook. And since Choi Myeongjin only ever sent work-related texts, this was, in every practical sense, the first time a personal message had ever come through to him.
Why does he keep reaching out when I haven’t even replied. Beomwook kept reading.
[This is my first time in a suite.] 8:15 PM
[Friends are blowing up my phone. Going to have to think carefully about what to do when the semester starts..] 8:15 PM
[Are you really busy? You’re not reading my texts ㅜㅜ] 8:20 PM
Even after reading through to Yeonjun’s last message, Beomwook couldn’t quite bring himself to put the phone down. He had been genuinely too preoccupied to notice the messages coming in. But the clear implication in Yeonjun’s tone — that he’d been waiting for a reply — settled something heavy into Beomwook’s chest all at once. In a case like this, is a reply the right thing to do? And frankly, he wasn’t sure what to say or how to say it either.
Beomwook held the phone and rubbed his thumb slowly across the screen. He couldn’t quite bring himself to just ignore it — the [ㅜㅜ] at the end of Yeonjun’s last message kept pulling at him.
He snuck a glance at Myeongjin sitting across from him, then slowly began moving his fingers. With Myeongjin deep in a phone call right in front of him, he felt a nagging sense of doing something he shouldn’t. And yet, Beomwook’s fingers moved steadily.
[Yes. I’m busy.] 8:25 PM
After much deliberation, Beomwook settled on a very honest sentence and sent it to Yeonjun. A sense of calm finally settled in. He realized that ignoring someone’s messages was a deeply uncomfortable thing to do. And not long after, new text appeared beneath his sent message.
[omg it’s the Executive Director] 8:25 PM
[I’ve been waiting for a reply the whole time.] 8:26 PM
Two messages, arriving in quick succession. Beomwook caught himself smiling before he could stop it, and raised his wine glass to cover his mouth. He could picture it so vividly — exactly what Yeonjun must look like right now, staring at his phone. Ahem. Ahem. When Beomwook cleared his throat, he sensed Myeongjin, who had been typing away at his laptop, glance up at him. Beomwook immediately returned to his neutral expression and swirled his wine glass lightly, as though nothing had happened.
At that moment, Choi Myeongjin lifted his head and spoke.
“…Oh, Executive Director — when should I process the additional payment for Baek Yeonjun?”
At that single sentence from Choi Myeongjin, Beomwook became aware of the bitterness gradually overtaking the sweetness of the wine on his tongue. The phone screen blinked again.
[Executive Director, please contact me once you’ve wrapped up!] 8:28 PM
The wine he’d been holding in his mouth slid down his throat in one go. Sweet or bitter — swallowing it was the rule of this world.
“I’ll deliver it to Baek Yeonjun myself.”
The easy curve at the corners of Beomwook’s lips went cold and stiff. Because Baek Yeonjun could not be allowed to step any further into Beomwook’s world.
“Executive Director. First — all articles related to Baek Yeonjun’s personal information have been taken down.”
“Yes. Good work.”
Choi Myeongjin finished his report after going through the last item on the list open on his laptop. There was still a lot left to do, and no telling when some bottom-feeding outlet would rear its head again — but at least one mountain had been crossed. Beomwook looked at his phone sitting on the table. No messages had come in from Yeonjun since. He’d said he would wait for Beomwook’s message, so of course he wouldn’t reach out first — but Beomwook’s eyes kept drifting, almost against his will, to the darkened screen.
“The problem, however, is Gaeseon Ilbo. The articles about Baek Yeonjun’s personal information were taken down for now, but… as you know, it’s a particularly vicious outlet. The content about Baek Yeonjun is gone — but articles about today’s events involving you, Executive Director, keep getting pumped out.”
Gaeseon Ilbo. Beomwook pressed his lips together and received the documents Choi Myeongjin handed over. Gaeseon Ilbo was a media outlet with an especially deep and entrenched relationship with Seosung Group. Every advertisement tied to Seosung Group ran through Gaeseon Ilbo, and the fact that Gaeseon Ilbo only ever put out favorable coverage of Seosung was something every person in the country knew.
“They’re completely unresponsive?”
“Yes. The reporter who posted the article about his personal information — that one was handled in one go. But the other articles are the problem. We had a name and contact information, but when we checked, no reporter by that name exists at Gaeseon Ilbo.”
Beomwook let out a low exhale. It was almost certainly an article made entirely on orders from above. Whether those orders came from Seosung Group, or whether Gaeseon Ilbo was acting on its own initiative to curry favor with Seosung by getting the story out first — that part was unclear. The documents Choi Myeongjin had provided included a brief breakdown of the kinds of articles that were being pushed out.
