Chapter 57
Chapter 57
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 57
Chapter Title: Holy Blood (11)
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From the moment we faced the people from the corporation, Yoanna—who had been completely silent—finally apologized belatedly.
Her voice was utterly dejected, unlike her usual self.
"I'm sorry, sis... It was my fault for suggesting we come all the way out here today, and now this happened..."
I simply shook my head.
"No. You don't need to apologize. Even if we'd stayed back on 13th Street, they would've found us anyway."
It wasn't just words to comfort her. It was simply the truth.
An ant crawling on the ground can't escape the gaze of a human looking down from the sky.
That was the gap that still existed between the corporation and the church.
This incident had made me feel it all too clearly.
I now realized I needed new countermeasures to match that reality.
"Anyway, aren't you tired? Let's head back for now."
And just like that, my brief holiday spent with Yoanna came to an end amid unexpected chaos.
After the incident wrapped up, I immediately got in touch with Chen, the leader of the Black Tiger Guild.
As expected, the moment he heard the corporation's name, he panicked and declared he'd completely pull out of this wine business. He was visibly terrified of any sparks flying his way.
Considering the notorious reputation of that well-known corporation in the city, this was the typical reaction.
But their attitude toward us had been strangely gentlemanly, defying such prejudices.
That could only be due to one person's will.
The chairman of that massive corporation, whose name I still didn't even know.
What on earth had he been thinking?
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Rachel, I've prepared a little gift for you today."
"It's that familiar wine, right? You seemed to like it back then, so I've decided to distribute it here. That way, I can bring it anytime."
"Hm? Worried I bought it too expensively?"
"As the chairman's wife, you're still so unpretentious. I guess you'd say that."
"Well, maybe I did pay a bit over the odds."
"But for something you liked... I didn't want to put any less value on it."
"Was it a waste after all? Sorry. I guess I messed up. See, without you to keep me in check, I just keep spending like crazy. I really need a perfect wife like you by my side, Rachel."
"So feel free to scold me. I swore at our wedding that I'd always listen to my wife. I haven't forgotten. So..."
"Nag me like you used to."
"Please."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Lumina Holdings headquarters, top floor.
The representative's office, where the city's nightscape rippled at his feet.
In the center sat a middle-aged man, Lian Lumen, quietly closing his eyes.
"........"
In his mind, he recalled someone who had once sat in this very seat when he was a boy.
His father, Oliver Lumen.
To young Lian's eyes, that man had been a true ironclad hero.
He had forged everything with money and ability, grinding people down to build Lumina Group—his own kingdom—an iron emperor.
Under that massive shadow, Lian's childhood had suffocated.
His father's ruthless meritocracy treated even his own children as mere spare parts for the company.
"I heard you didn't get a perfect score on this financial management exam."
Harsh, suffocating heir training.
Any deviation from expectations brought merciless reprimands and punishments.
"You've disappointed me again, Lian. No dinner for three days."
"...I'm sorry."
Like his two older brothers, young Lian had naively only obeyed.
But as he grew older, he naturally came to despise everything that had coerced him, leading to rebellion.
In his impulsive, hot-blooded adolescence, he finally ran away from home.
"Damn old man. I'll never see your face again."
Cutting ties with his family, he used secretly saved pocket money to rent a tiny room downtown and started living independently.
From then on, Lian was no longer the chaebol heir—he became a bum.
But a bum with dreams.
He planned to succeed spectacularly, just to shove it in his damn father's face, fueled by the rock music he'd secretly listened to at home—a symbol of rebellion.
So Lian worked odd jobs at a small live house in a corner of the city called "Underdog," practicing guitar.
"Welcome, sir!"
Even greeting customers at the counter, his heart was always on stage.
It was a place where his idol indie rock band occasionally performed. Lian dreamed of honing his skills, taking that stage confidently, catching a scout's eye, and breaking into the big leagues—enduring day by day.
Then one day, opportunity knocked for Lian.
The scheduled band flaked out last minute, leaving a gap, and he filled it.
With trembling hands, he restrung his beat-up secondhand guitar and began playing.
But the audience reaction was ice-cold indifference.
"Ugh, boring."
"When are Chrome Samurai coming on?"
No one paid any mind to an unknown rookie's clumsy performance.
Floor patrons just chattered loudly among themselves or nursed their drinks.
'Is my playing... really that bad...?'
He soldiered on with his performance and singing, but despair crept in bit by bit.
Then, in the corner of the audience, he spotted a woman at a table.
She had watched him quietly throughout.
Just knowing one person was listening to his music gave him the strength to finish his last song.
After stepping off stage, Lian shyly approached her, wanting to at least say thanks.
When he asked why she'd watched his messy performance to the end, she smiled faintly and said,
"Well, I don't know if it was good... but I could feel how hard you were trying, so I ended up watching all the way. It was more fun than I expected."
Effort.
A warm praise he'd never heard under his father, who only demanded results and trampled the process.
From that day, Lian became friends with that audience member, Rachel.
She was his first real friend ever.
As time passed, Lian and Rachel's bond deepened.
Through countless shared stories and accumulating memories, Rachel supported the still naive chaebol heir—sometimes like a reliable big sister, sometimes like a gentle mother.
Occasionally, she'd show an unexpectedly clumsy side, acting like an adorable little sister. With her, Lian felt a profound connection he'd never had even with his real family.
To her, he sometimes boasted confidently about becoming a rock star—a dream that now seemed utterly delusional.
Looking back, it was embarrassingly childish, but Rachel never mocked or scolded him.
She always listened earnestly and cheered on his dream with genuine sincerity.
Her unwavering kindness was his greatest comfort.
But one day, Rachel stopped coming to the live house like a lie.
When he finally reached her, she replied in an exhausted voice that student loans forced her into grueling, high-paying work.
"....."
In that moment, Lian desperately wanted to help her. But estranged from home, he could do nothing on these streets. He couldn't even scrape together an amount lighter than his old pocket money.
In desperation, he naively went to a loan shark, flashing his chaebol heir status to borrow money—but nearly got kidnapped, barely escaping with his life.
"Grab him! Don't let him go!"
"Huff... huff!"
Escaping the loan sharks empty-handed, trudging back—his battered body hurt less than the helplessness.
"Damn it...!"
At home, he'd thought money meaningless. People and dreams mattered.
But this city ignored such dreamy nonsense.
Money here was human rights. Even mid-surgery, unpaid bills meant eviction.
His "independence" was just bum antics enabled by childhood pocket money.
He was no longer heir or commoner—just a gray drifter, belonging nowhere. That realization crushed his adolescent youth.
Lian finally understood.
To gain one thing, you must abandon another.
He returned home.
Facing his father's cold gaze after months, he knelt silently.
Begged to learn from the bottom, for one more chance.
But as the ungrateful prodigal, he had to prove his worth first.
Thus, he started over as an anonymous grunt at the group's lowest rung.
Having tasted rock-bottom desperation, Lian was far more desperate and ruthless than his brothers, crushed under father's shadow.
His innate business talent and desperate effort began to shine.
Amassing achievements, he matched his brothers, then was named group heir. It took ages.
But racing too hard, too far ahead without looking back, one loses the path. After endless desperate striving, even the "why" of success faded into distant memory.
Succeeding his rapidly declining father as Lumina Holdings heir, he stood at glory's peak.
Only an inexplicable deep void shadowed that brilliance.
Then one day.
On a routine commute, a familiar melody flowed from the driver's radio.
"Wait!"
It was the song he'd first played trembling on Underdog's shabby stage.
How had he forgotten it so completely? That beloved, nostalgic tune.
Hearing it, like a trance, he revisited forgotten memories one by one.
Precious times he'd wondered how he could forget.
And finally, he tracked down Rachel.
After inquiries, he found her working as a plain cafe waitress.
At first, just curiosity if faded-memory Rachel was well, wanting to see her face.
But sitting with her, talking, spending time—Lian realized he was smiling relaxedly for the first time in decades.
And that his naive first love was the happiest moment in his arid life.
The rest led here, as everyone knows.
Lian approached with sincerity; Rachel slowly opened up. Days of strumming old guitars, chatting all night. Lian was happy. Like reclaiming his lost piece.
They married, shared brief but ultimate happiness.
But her known illness tore them apart as fated.
Another adversity.
Yet this time was different, he thought.
He wasn't that naive bum anymore.
Owner of a top-100 city corporation.
Easier to list what he couldn't do.
To save Rachel, Lian spared no means or method.
Ordinary folk think of two or three solutions to life's problems.
The wealthy influential have over a hundred.
What of Lian now?
Millions—no, countless.
Pouring all he'd built felt worthless.
He tried everything possible.
But if all fail... it's the same.
Broke bum or corporate overlord.
Just frail humans defying impossibility.
"I'm sorry, Chairman. This new drug... had no effect either."
The doctor's final notice rang coldly.
"......"
Lian couldn't cure his wife.
He despaired helplessly.
He'd strived so hard, seized success, reclaimed lost bonds.
Believed all choices right...
Yet everything crumbled futilely.
He no longer knew life's meaning. Understood nothing.
Yet one reason kept him enduring this hell.
Her desperate last plea, holding his hand before her decline:
"Even if I go... please, keep living..."
Heart-wrenching.
Hesitant it might become an unbreakable vow, but to ease her anxiety, he nodded.
Time flowed mercilessly; her condition worsened daily.
Barely conversing, hardly eating.
She withered visibly.
Rare glimmers of hope: her favorite wine scent let her eat a little.
Lian rejoiced like a miracle.
But fleeting; her brain's illness progressed.
Watching her fade, he resigned.
Worn by endless despair.
Inevitable farewell loomed.
How to honor their last promise.
But no answer.
Best efforts changed nothing.
Held the world, lost the dearest.
After irreplaceable loss...
How to live a meaningless life?
He still didn't know.
If someone taught him...
Even elite psychiatrists, charging thousands of credits hourly, offered no fix for his abyss.
No progress; just antidepressants.
Lian stared blankly at pills in one palm.
And the pistol in the other.
If that day came, truly sending her off...
He sensed choosing one.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Weeks passed.
I was swamped planning how to manage the massive funds from the wine business with Lumina Group.
Scheming large-scale charity, bolstering church forces still deemed insufficient—days blurred.
Then, out of the blue, Benjamin called.
"Miss Eve, I hope you're well. Our chairman cordially invites you to dinner. We'll send a car tomorrow at 7 PM. It would be an honor if you'd join."
Polite as ever, but with an undertone brooking no refusal.
Less invitation, more fiat.
"......"
After hanging up, I sank into deep thought.
'Can I... refuse this?'
Open threats would've been clearer—fight or flee.
But Lumina's unpredictable, baffling stance left me stumped.
As I pondered, Yoanna beside me cautiously spoke.
"But sis, something's off. I looked into it—rumors say the Lumina Holdings chairman's been sequentially inviting various figures from all walks to private dinners these past few weeks. You're not the only one."
She turned her ever-present personal terminal screen, showing a compiled invitee list.
It featured names from diverse fields.
Renowned professors, philosophers, activists, psychiatrists, critics, lawyers, athletes, influencers, poets, novelists, counselors, painters...
Staring long, I grew more puzzled.
What criteria united them?
Only that each had unique, non-overlapping backgrounds.
That lens...
'Am I... here as a religious figure?'