Soomin had always been theatrical.
Even as a child, he had staged fake award ceremonies with imaginary cameras and applauding staff. He bathed in spotlights. He weaponized charisma.
But behind the champagne smiles and designer scarves was a man who feared one thing above all else: humiliation.
Yoochan intended to drown him in it.
---
The first strike came subtly.
One of Soomin's prized nightclubs—HERA Seoul, a jewel in his illicit empire—was suddenly raided by financial regulators. They arrived during peak hours, not for drugs or violence, but for tax evasion and money laundering.
The scandal trended overnight.
"Kang Sibling's Nightlife Empire Under Siege!"
"Luxury Built on Lies: HERA Linked to Kang Conglomerate Laundering Scandal."
"Soomin Kang: From PR Prince to PR Poison?"
Soomin watched the headlines unfold on his massive OLED wall, sweating in silk pajamas. His publicist was already on her fifth apology draft. His father had gone radio silent.
And Joonho?
Not a single call.
Only a text: Clean up your own mess.
Soomin screamed and hurled his tablet across the room.
But it was only the beginning.
---
Two days later, Yoochan planted the second trap.
A carefully edited video leaked online—footage of Soomin's private conversations with government officials, offering bribes in exchange for suppressing labor protests. His voice was unmistakable.
The netizens tore him apart.
"Arrogant, privileged, corrupt chaebol trash."
"His mother should've swallowed."
"End the Kangs. Start with Soomin."
Yoochan read the comments silently, unmoved.
In another life, he might have pitied him. But that life ended the day he was pushed off a rooftop and buried as a nobody.
Now, he was a ghost with teeth.
---
In Jiwoo's bunker, the strategy unfolded with military precision.
"Phase Two is psychological warfare," Jiwoo said, flipping through the next operation file. "You don't just ruin Soomin's image. You isolate him. Make him radioactive."
Yoochan nodded. "Everyone's replaceable in the Kang family. Even charm."
"Especially charm," Jiwoo replied.
They activated sleeper contacts within Soomin's PR firm—low-level managers bought cheap with promises of better jobs elsewhere. Within forty-eight hours, four internal leaks sent investor confidence spiraling. Stocks dipped 11%. Kang Industries' board demanded accountability.
For once, Soomin had no spin.
He tried reaching out to allies. Politicians. CEOs. Even old flings.
But no one returned his calls.
Even his bodyguard—his most loyal confidante—filed for transfer.
He was a king with no court.
---
Then Yoochan made his move.
Disguised in a tailored suit and colored contacts, he attended a closed investors' gala in Busan—where Soomin was rumored to be attending discreetly to court new capital.
Yoochan didn't need to approach him. He just needed to be seen.
And Soomin did see him.
Across the ballroom, glass in hand, looking very much alive.
Their eyes locked.
And for a moment, Soomin froze.
His drink slipped. Shattered.
He pushed through the crowd, hyperventilating, but by the time he reached the hallway—Yoochan was gone.
That night, Soomin booked a private jet to Thailand.
By morning, he was on the front page again.
"Soomin Kang Flees Amid Scandal—Escape or Exile?"
---
Back in Seoul, Joonho sat in his high-rise office, watching the press conference on mute. His jaw clenched as the headlines scrolled across the ticker.
One sibling down.
Not killed. Not ruined.
Erased.
And worse—he had no idea how.
"Find him," Joonho said to his assistant. "Yoochan. I don't care if he's dead. I want proof. Or a body."
---
Yoochan stood before the factory ruins that had once been his grave.
He tossed a black-and-gold lighter into the rubble, watching it vanish into dust. Behind him, the skyline of Seoul glittered like a city that never slept—never cared.
Jiwoo joined him. "You didn't just bury Soomin. You burned his legacy."
Yoochan didn't turn. "He inherited lies. I gave him truth."
"Next?"
Yoochan's eyes narrowed.
"Minwoo."