The Homunculus
Seong-gyun stopped his near-tantrum after Jeong Jung-an’s firm refusal.
“Understood.”
He quickly exchanged glances with Je-gyun, who stood beside him. What now? A smile crept across Je-gyun’s lips at the silent signal. That kid really needs a crash course in at least pretending to grieve when Father collapses.
I could roughly guess what the two brothers—now pushed out of the succession race—were thinking.
There’s no guarantee the hidden will is only for Ho-gyun to see.
Right. Our names haven’t been mentioned once in what’s been revealed so far. Father must still have something to say to us.
Let’s step back for now. You caused such a scene that I can’t exactly jump in.
Good idea. Sorry.
They were probably tormenting themselves with such fragile hopes. Unfortunately for them, the person Jeong Jung-an came looking for again was me.
* * *
Even the villa meeting yesterday had been exhausting. Just as I thought I’d wrapped it up cleanly, news of Chairman Kwon Byung-do falling unconscious arrived without a single moment to breathe. The surgery dragged on through the night, and I spent it watching anxiously without a wink of sleep. Then came the will reading, which kept me on edge the entire time despite my best efforts to hide it. It had been a truly grueling day.
Yet it didn’t feel like anything had ended. If anything, it felt like I’d just finished watching the trailer for a grand blockbuster. The main feature was about to begin, and unlike a movie I could simply sit and watch, the one heading my way would require me to step into the screen and become the protagonist. I would have to recruit allies, bring down Seong-gyun and Je-gyun, and seize control of QS Tower. There wouldn’t be any assassinations or helicopter crashes, but the events would be just as dynamic.
Whew. To make that happen, I needed rest right now. Fortunately, there was nothing urgent demanding my attention, so the timing worked. After the group that had visited the waiting room left, I went down to the convenience store on the first floor and bought an armful of snacks, bread, triangle kimbap, and drinks. Then, for the first time in ages, I ate heartily without any formality or concern for appearances. Anyone watching might have marveled that even a chaebol’s third son knew how to enjoy convenience store food like that. Well, having lived as Kang Min-chan, these were foods I’d eaten often, so they felt quite familiar.
After clearing away the trash from fifty thousand won worth of convenience store items, the fatigue I’d been holding at bay crashed over me, and I fell into a deep sleep. That was when I had the dream.
Most dreams are a jumbled mix of real experiences, but every element in this one felt strangely unfamiliar. Having lived only in cities—whether as Kang Min-chan or Kwon Ho-gyun—the sight of dust rising on a dirt road with an ox cart passing by was alien. Oddly, the dream unfolded in third person. After the dusty scene passed, a tiled-roof house came into view. It didn’t look like an ordinary noble’s residence; there was something distinctly unusual about it. A crowd had gathered in front.
Among the people in shabby hanbok were a few wearing suits, complete with glasses and pocket watches. Judging by the clothing, the era seemed to be the late Joseon period or the Japanese colonial era. A man I’d never met before pushed through the crowd, waving his hands at the people.
“The master cannot receive any more visitors today. Please return home.”
Visitors? It must be some kind of business. At his words, the crowd dispersed one by one with reluctant sighs, and the front of the tiled-roof house came fully into view. Then an indescribably strange feeling washed over me. Even accounting for the bizarre sensations dreams can bring, this was something entirely new. I was clearly standing outside the house, yet I could feel with absolute certainty that the person inside was me.
What is this?
When the incomprehensible dream ended and I woke on the waiting room sofa, half a day had passed. It was early afternoon, just past lunchtime. The first thing I checked on my phone wasn’t just the time—there was also an unread text from an unsaved number.
This is Jeong Jung-an, whom you met this morning. I have something to show the third young master. Would you have a moment?
I’ll be waiting at the café on the first floor of the neurosurgery ward.
If it was Jeong Jung-an, I could easily guess what he wanted to show me. It had to be the remaining portion of Chairman Kwon Byung-do’s will, the part meant to be disclosed only to a specific individual. Fortunately, the message had arrived just five minutes before I woke.
Understood. I’ll be right there.
After replying, I stopped by the restroom to freshen up, then headed to the café where the chairman’s undisclosed will awaited.
* * *
Unlike in the morning, Jeong Jung-an didn’t offer elaborate condolences or read the will aloud himself. He simply handed me a document envelope containing the will in silence. It was fortunate he hadn’t read it out while I sat with black coffee in front of me; that would have felt like being served poison. The contents were far from any death sentence.
The medical records of Kwon Byung-do shall be disclosed only to one person, Kwon Ho-gyun, except in cases where disclosure is unavoidable for treatment. The medical staff shall provide Kwon Ho-gyun with detailed information regarding my medical condition.
I had expected something business-related, but medical records? The next clause only deepened my suspicion.
Should anyone violate this, Kwon Ho-gyun shall never forgive them and will pursue them to the end, seeking civil and criminal damages as well as criminal penalties, and taking all measures to bring about their financial ruin.
The chairman of the QS Group declaring he would use every legal and economic means at his disposal to destroy someone. Even though I wasn’t the target, reading each word sent a chill down my spine. Flipping the perspective, the thought that I would soon inherit that same power made me feel oddly proud.
Noticing I had finished reading, Jeong Jung-an asked cautiously, “You’ll want to see the chairman’s medical records, won’t you?”
He asked because, taken literally, the will meant I was someone who could choose to view—or not view—Kwon Byung-do’s medical records. If I refused, I could simply walk away. But with information being everything to me, that was never an option.
“Yes. I’ll look at them. Father must have had a reason for specifically instructing me to review them.”
“Understood. The hospital has already been informed. When I spoke with the director, he suggested it would be best for you to meet with the head of neurosurgery who performed the surgery yesterday.”
“I’ll do that. Should I arrange a separate appointment with the department head?”
“No need. After hearing from the director, I already scheduled a meeting with him. His scheduled surgery this afternoon should finish soon, so if you come up with me in about thirty minutes, that should work.”
I’d noticed it in the morning as well—Jeong Jung-an handled requests with meticulous thoroughness. He reminded me of Jegal Hyeon, another lawyer around me. Of course, Jegal Hyeon senior still had a full head of hair.
“Thirty minutes should be enough time to finish this coffee and head up together at a leisurely pace.”
“Very well.”
When I returned to the ward and came face-to-face with the neurosurgery department head, who had just changed from surgical scrubs into a white coat, Jeong Jung-an bowed repeatedly to both of us and hurried out.
“You two must have important matters to discuss, so I’ll take my leave.”
Pfft. Perhaps Jeong Jung-an had been dozens of times more terrified by the chairman’s will—threatening to hunt down anyone who saw the medical records—than I had been. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have bolted like that when he could have excused himself naturally.
Once only the department head and I remained in the office, he bowed his head at once.
“I’m sorry.”
“Pardon?”
At my question, he quickly added an explanation. “I understand you observed Chairman Kwon Byung-do’s surgery from start to finish last night. As a surgeon, I shouldn’t have shown you such an inadequate performance…”
Ah. So he was referring to the cardiac arrest and multiple transfusions during the surgery. “I don’t have the knowledge to judge whether the medical care was good or bad, but I did see you fighting with everything you had to treat my father in the observation room last night. It’s unfortunate when results don’t match intentions, but that happens more often than not.”
The department head let out a sigh of relief at my reassurance and continued. “Thank you for understanding my sincerity. I was told that what I need to explain to you today concerns Chairman Kwon Byung-do’s medical condition. Is that correct?”
“Yes. I only read the part of the will left specifically for me, instructing me to review Father’s medical records and hear an explanation from the medical staff. You probably know better than I do what needs to be said, since you performed the surgery.”
The department head hesitated for a moment, then put on the glasses from his desk and nodded. “Yes. There is something I’ve been suspecting. I heard the hospital director already explained the procedures and surgery the chairman underwent yesterday in detail. However, there’s something the medical staff found so unusual that we’ve been debating how to explain it to the family.”
“Is it related to Father’s recovery timeline?”
“No. I must apologize again, but no one can make any guarantees about the chairman’s recovery timeline. Beyond the fact that we’re doing everything modern medicine allows, I have nothing more to offer.”
“Then what is it?”
In response to my question, the department head clicked the computer mouse a few times before asking, “Did you happen to notice anything strange on the microscope screen that was shared during the surgery yesterday?”