Honored Father (1)
"Hello there!"
The moment we stepped through the door of a Korean restaurant with an air of quiet refinement, a server dressed in what looked like the house uniform—a modernized hanbok—came out to greet Suho.
"You should have a reservation under Lee Sang-kwon."
At Suho's words, the server stepped out from behind the counter and stood before us.
"Yes, sir. One of your party has already arrived. Right this way, please."
From the interior—arranged so that even a first-timer would recognize it at once as a full-course Korean restaurant—to the bearing of the staff, everything made me feel awkward and out of place. This was the kind of establishment you'd expect the elderly or people of considerable wealth to frequent. A slightly alien setting for Suho and me to be walking into.
Then again, Suho does have money. Maybe it suits him after all.
I stole a glance at Suho, who looked for all the world like any student you'd pass on the street. No matter how I turned it over, he simply did not belong in a place like this.
"Do you come to places like this often?"
"No. It's somewhere my father likes."
"Ah, I see. And here I thought... you liked Korean food."
Korean cooking, by its very nature, demanded a whole retinue of side dishes, which made it a tall order for anyone living alone to manage it meal after meal. Perhaps not for a solo dweller who had a steady supply sent from home, but I had to cook everything myself. Naturally, most of what I could actually manage leaned Western or Chinese.
Though I did often make pickled things I could keep and eat over a long while...
"No, it's not that. If you're the one making it, noona, I'll eat anything."
Suho was careless with his meals at the best of times, and since I had every intention of looking after each and every one of them, this was welcome news.
"Really? Then that's a relief."
Determined not to fall short of Suho's inexplicable faith that anything I cooked would be worth eating, I promised myself I'd hunt down recipes in earnest going forward—and so we trailed after the server for the better part of a minute.
—Shhhk.
"I hope you have a wonderful time."
Beyond the server, who opened the door, bowed, and withdrew, I caught sight of the man at the helm of Mirae Group—the man I'd only ever seen in the media.
Suho's father.
The one who, for reasons unknown to me, stood out front in place of Suho—the one who actually ran Mirae Pharma.
"Ah... hello."
The moment our eyes met, I bowed at the waist before I knew what I was doing. Strip away the title of "Suho's father," and this was still a man whose stern face and heavy presence would have earned him a bow from me regardless. All I knew of him was that he ran companies spread across countless industries, all built on the back of a steel business. As I skimmed over the face of a man who looked harder than steel, he greeted me first.
"Ah! Miss Gaon? No—should I be calling you Mr. Gaon?"
Reaching my thirties, I'd thought myself fairly aged by now. But the man before us looked as though he'd lived through Suho's lifetime and mine stacked together. Sneaking a peek at the years settled into his face, I stumbled over my words.
"C-call me whatever feels comfortable, sir."
Why does this feel so hard...
And no wonder—occasions like this were simply not in my repertoire. Perhaps because, ever since my illness took hold past the age of twenty, I'd lived alone with no relatives to speak of, let alone parents—
"There we go. Miss Gaon, have a seat. Suho, you too."
For all that face of his, his reply came remarkably warm, and I found my seat almost naturally.
"Father."
"Mm."
"I'm starving, so let's eat first."
The Suho I knew showed me nothing but his devilish side, but here he was different. I stole a glance at this unfamiliar version of him, carrying on like a child wheedling his father.
"I went ahead and ordered."
"You could've had it ready ahead of time."
That was rather combative, as words to one's father went. Hoping to rein him in, I pinched Suho in the side—but whether my frail body's attack simply failed to register, he didn't so much as shift the expression he wore staring at his father.
What's gotten into him?
"Impatient to a fault, this one. Tsk. It'll be out shortly."
Are things strained between him and his father?
Truth be told, this room seemed less a place to eat than a place to talk. The sort of venue that could serve as the backdrop for a clandestine meeting straight out of a drama or a film. As I covertly took in my surroundings, Suho's father spoke to me.
"You have it rough, don't you, Miss Gaon. Living with this rascal."
"Ah—no, sir, not at all."
"Father!"
Suho's voice, louder than any I'd ever turned on him, was edged with steel.
Why is he acting like this?
Suho's father steered the conversation along like a man telling jokes at his own table, while Suho glared at him with a look fit to kill. Turn it over slowly—Suho living alone, just as I once had—and their relationship didn't appear to be a close one.
Or maybe it's one-sided. Maybe Suho's simply the one who's awkward around his father.
Judging by the warmth with which he treated me, he didn't seem to dislike his son. If he had, there would have been no reason to choose a place like this to share a meal in the first place.
"I've heard a great deal about you from Suho."
"Ah... yes."
I couldn't know exactly what he'd been told, but the way he weighed "Mr. Gaon" against "Miss Gaon" told me he knew about my... situation.
Did the novel come up too?
Whether the contract had been mentioned, I had no way of knowing. I couldn't tell if he understood that ours was a relationship where a single slip could land us at a marriage registry—but at the very least, he seemed aware that I wrote.
"It certainly is a peculiar illness."
It sounded like a murmur half to himself, but his voice carried through the quiet room, and I lifted my head from where it had been dipping toward my teacup.
"Pardon?"
"You're going through ASCS, aren't you, Miss Gaon? You were over thirty to begin with, weren't you?"
"Yes."
The chairman spoke as though he knew full well that ASCS didn't merely switch one's sex—it also rewound you years younger than your true age—and I answered with a nod. And yet, as if he'd read the surprise flickering across my face, he came back with a hearty laugh.
"Ho ho. Changing sex is hardship enough, but looking younger than your years will land you in plenty of awkward spots too. Now me, I've watched this sort of thing unfold right before my eyes often enough to understand some of it, but..."
"Looking young is a blessing, if you ask me."
I didn't much care to be consoled by a man I'd met five minutes ago, so I tossed back a joke of my own. A stubborn spark flared up in me—a refusal to look frail—and the instant I lifted my chin and met his eyes, the chairman smiled and probed, ever so smoothly:
"Haha. Is that so? Well then—have you and Suho already done it?"
"Father!"
He's asking what I think he's asking... isn't he?
The sudden remark did bring a certain thought flashing to mind, but surely it couldn't be that—so I asked his father right back:
"Done what, exactly?"
"Haha! Just an old dad's little jest."
A trace of disappointment settled briefly on his face, but he wiped it clean in a heartbeat and pivoted to scolding Suho instead.
"And Suho—your old man's ears haven't rotted off yet. You'll burst them, you rascal."
"That's because you're the one spouting nonsense, Father!"
I watched, quietly amused, as Suho—usually so composed, so occupied with teasing me—was dragged along by the conversation, unusually worked up today. And as I watched him, the chairman stole a glance my way. In those black eyes, which seemed to radiate some formless force, I felt an emotion of inexplicable intensity.
"Do you think well of Suho, Miss Gaon?"
"Yes."
There was nothing to think poorly of. His occasional childishness unsettled me, granted, but he was hardly wicked enough to earn my resentment. Besides, little by little, I'd been coming to notice just how much he looked after me.
At my answer, Suho's father took a sip of his tea and began again—slowly this time, in a way he hadn't before.
"When would you like the engagement ceremony held?"
"I'm sorry? E-engagement? I... I've never really thought about anything like that yet...?"
The contract did stipulate a marriage registration if I failed to uphold my end, but I had never once entertained thoughts of an engagement, much less a wedding.
"Is that so? Too soon, perhaps... Though 'not yet' would mean you do have thoughts of it for the future, yes?"
"I'm sorry?"
Setting aside whether some part of me had quietly assumed it would come to that, he appeared to be laboring under a gentle misunderstanding about Suho and me. And in that slyly smiling face, I could see Suho's own mischief-filled grin. A look that was... really not so bad at all.
"A daughter-in-law would be no trouble at all... No, in fact, I'd be delighted to have you as one. Miss Gaon."
"Father! That's enough."
"Why? Seems like Father's only joking because he thinks I'd get all stiff around him."
I wanted to believe it was a joke. Because the way he looked at me was the very picture of a father who genuinely wished to see Suho and me end up together—
"Honestly, Suho. Why so ferocious? The way you look right now, you're like a beauty fallen into a wild beast's clutches."
I held back Suho as he shouted at his own father, answered the old man's teasing with nothing more than a laugh, and took a sip from my teacup. The fragrance of green tea drifted up into my nose, and the pleasantly hot brew slid down my throat. Having taken a moment to steady my breath, I cracked a joke of my own.
"Aigoo, you flatter me."
I decided to take it as a compliment. Even by my own assessment, the lovely young lady in the mirror was pretty, after all.
"Excuse us, please."
While I traded small talk with the chairman, several people filed in—the meal, it seemed, was ready. The dishes adorning the table were composed with an understated elegance, and yet even at a glance they looked thoroughly delicious.
"Now, let's begin with the meal. There's plenty of time, after all."
"Yes. That's probably for the best—Suho does look hungry."
"Even you, noona..."
I feigned ignorance of Suho's groan of despair. Even Suho, who had kept me pinned underfoot all this while, was, in the end, nothing more than a son before his father.
Aigoo, I'm suing him for that.
Beginning with the chairman's first lift of his chopsticks, the conversation that had seemed boundless fell quiet, if only for a moment.