The glass trembled in Yoochan's hand.
Miyoung's room. Empty. Blood on the sheets.
The feed stuttered, then cut to black.
Jiwoo exhaled a cloud of smoke and flicked the cigar over the railing. "You lost her the moment you forgot what she meant."
Yoochan didn't move. His mind spiraled—calculating, unraveling.
This isn't panic. It's a pivot.
"I don't need to kneel," Yoochan said flatly. "I just need to know where she is."
"Of course you do." Jiwoo stepped closer, lowering his voice. "And you'll do anything, won't you? Even hand me the empire. You've worked so hard for it—bodies, betrayals, that hospital inferno—but in the end, it all comes back to her."
Yoochan didn't answer.
Jiwoo smirked. "I'll give you three days. Publicly announce your resignation. Transfer power. Apologize. And I'll release her."
"And if I don't?"
"Then you get her piece by piece. Teeth, nails, maybe her tongue if she screams too much."
The gala roared beneath them—strings swelling, champagne flowing, a hundred sharks in sequins circling under chandeliers. But on the balcony, it was just Yoochan and Jiwoo. Brother and bastard. Knife and wound.
Jiwoo turned to go. "Tick tock, hyung. Blood's in the water now."
---
Back at the penthouse, the silence pressed like a blade. Sooyoung paced while Yoochan stared at the live feed looping Miyoung's bloodied bed.
"You shouldn't have let her stay in that safe house," she snapped. "I told you it wasn't secure."
Yoochan didn't blink. "No one should've known its location. Not unless…"
He turned to her, eyes narrowing.
She recoiled. "Don't even—"
"Jiwoo's been here a week at most. How the hell does he already have our logistics, our encryption keys, the location of—"
"I'm not the leak."
"Then find out who is." He shoved his phone at her. "Trace the feed. I want raw IPs, cell tower triangulation, whatever the hell you can dig up."
Sooyoung took it, her jaw clenched. "And what are you going to do?"
He opened the drawer. Inside: a knife, a vial of ashes, and a burner phone marked "Emergency."
"Plan B."
---
Minwoo was waiting at the underground fight club—blood on his knuckles, brass ring dented. He didn't ask why Yoochan was there. Just offered a cigarette and said, "You look like you need a body dropped."
"Not dropped," Yoochan muttered. "Tracked."
He handed over a flash drive. "Jiwoo's movements. Access points. Every phone call he's made since landing. I want surveillance on everyone he's contacted—especially foreign firms. If he's moving Miyoung, he'll need offshore help."
Minwoo whistled low. "You're bleeding power, hyung. Public's still reeling from the hospital fire, the board's skittish, and now this mystery heir's got the vultures circling."
"I know."
Minwoo leaned forward, serious now. "You're running out of friends."
"Then I'll buy new ones."
"With what?"
"My soul, if I have to." Yoochan's voice cracked, dry and low. "Just find her."
---
The next day, the media exploded.
BREAKING: YOOCHAN'S SECRET BROTHER EMERGES.
CORPORATE COUP? DNA TESTS CONFIRMED.
MISSING WOMAN LINKED TO KANG SCANDAL.
Sooyoung barged into Yoochan's office, her face pale. "The leak came from inside our comms division. One of Seojun's old moles. Jiwoo flipped him."
Yoochan processed it. "Then he's not just after the company. He's building a rebellion."
Sooyoung nodded grimly. "He's not here to join the family. He's here to dismantle it."
Yoochan stared out the window—Seoul glinting like a battlefield in the morning haze.
"What's our next move?" she asked.
"We go lower than he expects."
---
That night, Yoochan walked into a private poker den—one not listed on any registry. Inside, figures in tailored suits turned to him with wary eyes. These were not executives. These were the men who owned executives.
A man in a white suit stepped forward. "Chairman Kang. You honor us."
"I need favors," Yoochan said.
"And what do you offer?"
He dropped the vial of ashes on the table. "Fifty dead workers. The same fire Jiwoo is using to crucify me. You leak proof it was sabotage—from a whistleblower he paid off. You flip the story."
The room hushed.
"You want the bastard son to look like the murderer?"
"No," Yoochan said. "I want him to look like me."
---
Sooyoung waited for him in the car, engine idling, her laptop open. "You're playing with monsters now."
"I am one."
She didn't argue.
A new feed blinked to life on the screen—Miyoung, unconscious, bruised but alive, being transferred into a windowless van.
"Where is that?" Yoochan asked.
"Somewhere rural. Satellite ping says east coast. Could be Gangneung."
Yoochan watched the van turn onto a mountain road.
"We've got one chance," he said. "Before he moves her again."
Sooyoung closed her laptop. "I'll prep the team."
"No," Yoochan said. "No team. This time, it's just me."