The Storm That Came Knocking

"Heh heh, young folks these days sure run hot."

The Chairman's office at Seoul Group.

True to his baseball-fan roots, Han Tae-gun, Chairman of Seoul Group, had been watching the All-Star awards ceremony as well.

That he could afford such leisure — despite the crushing weight of his title and an emergency management regime brought on by COVID-19 that might never come again — was, in a sense, thanks to Kim Yi-seon.

He had already been keeping a nervous eye on shifting US interest rates, and as such had been agonizing over whether to grow the group's overseas-denominated assets as a hedge against risk.

And then, right in front of him, some young punk had gone all-in on converting his entire fortune into dollars without so much as a backward glance. Spurred on by that display of reckless nerve, the Chairman had thrown himself into it a little more aggressively than usual.

Barely a few months later, the COVID crisis erupted — and after covering every minor loss across the entire group, he still walked away with profits in the hundreds of billions of won. While rival chaebols and investment firms floundered in the chaos, he was already busy thinking about what undervalued assets to snap up at the bottom.

On top of that, when he'd had a portion of the group's funds follow Kim Yi-seon's investment portfolio, that fund had posted the number-one return rate inside the entire group.

By the time this pandemic ran its course, a fortune that had started in the low billions would likely sit somewhere in the several-hundred-billions range.

Whether it was built on some kind of analysis or simply the luck born of a young man's headlong audacity, he couldn't say — but Han Tae-gun liked the kid either way.

"He really is remarkable, sir. Even granting that you gave your blessing to some degree... Miss Seo-hee is involved, after all."

His chief secretary spoke up beside him, her tone carrying a hint of grievance.

The Chairman waved it off as if it were nothing.

"If I approved it, that's the end of the discussion. What more is there to say?"

"But are you truly all right with this, Chairman? You doted on the youngest of Miss Seo-hee's household more than anyone."

Han Tae-gun had four sons and two daughters — and among all those children, the youngest daughter of his youngest son was Han Seo-hee.

The eldest grandson was already in his forties, and word was his great-grandson had entered middle school. In a household like that, Han Seo-hee had been the precious baby of the family, the beloved youngest whom everyone showered with affection.

Though Han Seo-hee herself had apparently taken all that attention as whip and rebuke — she still feared her grandfather ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to this day.

And now he was simply going to hand her over? Granted, the Han family of Seoul Group, unlike most chaebol clans, encouraged love matches over arranged marriages — but joining as the third woman to a man who already had two could hardly have looked pretty.

Yet Chairman Han merely shot his chief secretary a sideways glance and added one more line.

"Director Lee. Why dwell on what's already done? Enough. Go get some work done."

"...Yes, Chairman."

To the chief secretary — who had handled the affairs of Seoul Group and the Han family for so long that she'd grown genuinely attached to them — it wasn't an easy thing to accept. But when the family patriarch himself said it was fine, what more was there to argue?

So she left the chairman's office in a mildly sour mood —

"Seo-hee? With Kim Yi-seon?"

— and only then did Chairman Han finally let the bewilderment he'd been hiding spill out.

No, hold on — there's an age gap, isn't there? Seo-hee's what, five years older? And he obviously already knew about the two women.

And I approved it? When?

Chairman Han could not, for the life of him, make sense of what his secretary had said.

The reason he'd answered as though he naturally knew everything anyway came down to a reflex beaten into him by decades of being chairman.

A businessman — especially one who touched money directly — must meticulously hide any gap in his knowledge unless he was deliberately asking a question in public. And so, even in front of subordinates, even when a topic he knew nothing about came up, smoothly pretending he knew all along — reading it straight from context — was basic, ingrained conduct.

A habit which, unfortunately, now made it impossible for him to just blurt out, What on earth are you talking about?

"Then... was that what got approved back then?"

His first meeting with Kim Yi-seon surfaced in his memory. Given that he'd come down with COVID around that time and suffered through it, the whole affair was all the more unforgettable.

He'd been curious what guts it took for a young man — young enough to still be called a boy — to invest such a large sum with such swagger, so he'd taken one look... Then, thanks to a granted wish, the returns had come in, and he'd asked what the boy wanted out of curiosity about what someone with that much nerve might desire...

Just then, the phone rang with a jolt that cut through his thoughts. Outside the door, the secretary handling calls relayed the message in a loud voice.

"Chairman? Director Choi Hee-jung is on the line."

His youngest daughter-in-law. Chairman Han answered with the faintest tremor in his voice.

"Yes, put her through."

And the moment he picked up the receiver, an icy voice came through.

"Father."

"Ah, yes, my dear. What is it?"

Choi Hee-jung, mother of Han Seo-hee, radiating the very chill that had terrorized her daughter for years, delivered her notice to her father-in-law.

"That boy who plays baseball. I heard you gave your blessing. Even so, as his mother, shouldn't I see him with my own eyes and judge for myself?"

"Oh — of course! Yes, absolutely the right thing!"

"Then I'll take that as your approval and hang up. Have a good day, Father."

His daughter-in-law's fury carried through the phone line itself.

This is going to be rough, isn't it?

Chairman Han had half-hoped that with Kim Yi-seon's feelings in the picture, the whole matter might slide by — but there was no damming a daughter-in-law's wrath.

Even after learning the truth, Walker didn't go blabbing it to anyone. In his own words, he wasn't a snitch or a rat like "those darkies."

He did, admittedly, tormented the other foreign players by wandering around saying things like, "I just realized something truly astonishing. You wanna know what it is? Can't tell ya" — a minor episode that had them seething.

On top of that, the interpreter who had realized the truth while translating for Walker was also keeping his mouth firmly shut. Confidentiality about a client's secrets learned mid-interpretation was, after all, a fundamental professional duty.

But no matter how diligently those two men kept quiet, the rumor spread far and wide anyway.

The rumor was already half-believed as truth and being amplified and reproduced at full speed.

That the story spread despite the two men who'd figured it out keeping their lips sealed was, of course, only natural — but the two of them weren't the only ones who knew.

There's a saying in modern-day South Korea: even the office water cooler knows about a workplace secret romance. No matter how hard those two tried to hide it, how could it possibly have stayed buried? Especially with Han Seo-hee wearing her heart on her sleeve the way she did?

This was also why the PR team, despite Kim Yi-seon being the Twins' most popular star, rarely asked him for content. Partly because messing up his conditioning when he was playing so well would earn them flak — but mostly because nobody knew what would happen if they got on the wrong side of a player with the club President's backing.

Until now, the staff had kept quiet for a host of reasons: the timing wasn't right to spill the story, loyalty to the club and the President, the assumption that bringing it up would only get it buried. But after Kim Yi-seon's confession, those reins had come completely undone.

Slowly, the thinking went — he's about to marry one of his girlfriends anyway, so sooner or later he and the President will either make it official or end it.

If the former, it would come out eventually regardless; if the latter, they simply felt sorry for their President and quietly spread the word to those around them — "You didn't hear it from me, okay?"

And what was the man at the center of this monstrous scandal doing right now?

"Well, I figured a day like this would come eventually."

"Is that really what you should be spouting right now? Guess it's just me doing all the work again?"

He was lying back, leisurely enjoying his rest.

With Lee Ye-eun on one side of him and Kang Min-ah on the other, one might start to suspect that the community's "crazy for women" smear wasn't entirely a smear.

Of course, Kim Yi-seon was not taking the situation lightly. As the rumor spread, he hoped people would stick to reasonable deductions and lines that didn't cross — but some of it included grossly exaggerated content and bizarre fantasies, all spreading as if factual.

That was exactly why Ye-eun was so busy right now. Trying to forcibly stamp out a rumor that had already escaped would be a wasted effort that only fanned the flames, so for the moment they were letting it run — while frantically monitoring for slander that crossed the line too far.

Not that it mattered. He had a solution ready for all of it.

"Me? I met with the Chairman face-to-face and got everything approved, you know."

He hadn't realized it at the time, but looking back now, it was painfully obvious. The Chairman of the entire group was hardly a man with time to spare, and no matter how hot a rising player might be, why on earth would he grant a private audience to a single rookie? With the club President in the room to boot?

Anyone could see it now — the Chairman had tacitly blessed the relationship between Seo-hee noona and him from that very moment. And the whole business of granting him a wish? The meaning behind that was transparent.

So all he had to do was wait for his noona to mentally prepare herself, then dial the number on this business card from the Chairman and say, Sir, I could use your help just this once — problem solved, easy as—

"Yi-seon! It's your noona! Open the door, quick!"

Through the front door, over a thunderous THUD THUD THUD, came Seo-hee noona's voice.

He turned to look at Ye-eun and Min-ah, but both wore faces that said no idea.

Huh? If neither of them knew, had noona come on her own without being called? She never came here — apart from that one time before — because she said it was too much pressure on her.

Even if she were coming, this was someone who'd text ahead. Why show up out of nowhere with no warning?

"Ha...!! Hoo—!! Yi-seon, it's a real emergency! No — okay, you don't need to panic TOO much! But it IS a real emergency!"

She'd sprinted over, apparently, because the voice gasping through the door sounded like a woman being chased for her life. When he opened it, she was in a full-blown panic, flailing around in disarray.

"Noona, just breathe for a second. There you go. In... and out."

In this state she was completely incomprehensible, so he calmed her down first. Only then, having finally caught her breath, did she do ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠about three deep inhales and begin speaking in a voice she'd steadied, each word deliberate.

"Yi-seon. The, um... the rumor spreading through the communities. You've seen it, right?"

"Yes. I don't know where it started, but about sixty percent of it is actually true."

Normally rumors like this were a blind squirrel finding a nut — people throwing out random nonsense until something stuck. This one, though, had spread in remarkably accurate detail, as if someone had leaked the facts directly.

So they had tried to hide it — just hadn't managed to keep everyone around them from noticing. Figures.

But Seo-hee noona, as if that part hardly mattered, drove her next words home even harder.

"My parents saw it..."

"Oh..."

That was a scenario he genuinely hadn't considered.

"So what did they say?"

Had they blown up at her? Or, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in proper chaebol fashion, would they summon him separately, slide an envelope of cash across the table, and say, Stop seeing our Seo-hee?

While he was spinning such fantasies, noona shook her head, her face full of dread.

"No. They just informed me — I couldn't get a word in... They didn't say they'd meet you separately either."

But then she delivered something far more terrifying.

"Instead... they said they're going to look into how you play, and what the people around you say about you..."

Choi Hee-jung, Director of the Seoul Arts Foundation, was a somewhat anomalous figure within the Seoul Group owner family.

Chairman Han Tae-gun included, most of the men of Seoul Group had married daughters of other conglomerates.

This ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wasn't the product of calculated arranged marriages. The family creed Chairman Han championed was, in principle, "marry the one you love" — but when the people around you happened to be those people, the natural outcome was never going to look much different.

Consider that Chairman Han himself had solidified his foundations by marrying a mother-in-law who was the daughter of a powerful regional magnate — it was hard to picture his sons suddenly falling head over heels for a girl from an ordinary household and marrying her.

And so Choi Hee-jung — born not poor, but into an ordinary middle-class family, and married to President Han Byung-yeon — had inevitably remained somewhat on the outside of this family.

Not because her mother-in-law, sisters-in-law, or co-daughters-in-law were bad people. Their backgrounds were simply different, and harmony was hard to come by.

"So in this affair too, I suppose I'm destined to play the villain."

"You won't be, Director."

Secretary Yoon offered a consoling word, as if to soothe her mood. But Choi Hee-jung's heart refused to settle.

"Of course I will. Father gave his blessing, and this family's creed is that anyone may end up with the one they love and live well — so imagine how it grates, watching some tacky little vixen strut around like she belongs, pawing at our darlings."

The chaebols of dramas and films are portrayed as people who look down on their inferiors, rank human beings by the size of their wallets, and understand nothing but their own emotions — shallow, contemptible creatures.

People like that surely exist somewhere, but in Choi Hee-jung's lived experience it was closer to the exact opposite — and doubly so for the Seoul Group family, whatever one might say of others.

They knew nothing of the petty venom ordinary humans were capable of. Having always lived in abundance, they had no idea how ugly and ruthless a person could become over sums of money that would mean nothing to them.

"On paper, he's really quite lovely, you know. A baseball prodigy with a brilliant future, not a single record of violence or crime, consistently excellent grades even while playing ball, and lately investment results impressive enough to catch Father's eye, I hear."

"Yes, by every account and every known story, he even has a domestic, family-oriented side..."

"Exactly. For some woman other than Seo-hee."

So who was to say he wasn't one of those ruthless types — keeping his one true love on the side while handing a slot marked 'wife' to whoever could serve as his wallet?

Watching her co-daughters-in-law and sisters-in-law dismiss the very thought — surely no one would go that far — made her chest tighten. Her husband at least seemed to defer to her judgment, though that was less reasoned deduction than simple rage that his adorable youngest had acquired a man.

"None of that is visible in how he acts around Seo-hee. What kind of person he is day to day, how he treats the people around him, what face he shows when doing his actual job. Only by verifying those sides does a person's true nature ever come to light."

Which was why she had no intention of meeting Kim Yi-seon face-to-face. One look at his photos — a remarkably handsome face that had even snagged her hopelessly introverted Seo-hee — and whatever moves he made were bound to be pure fox-cunning.

No. Far better to examine the traces the fox left behind naturally. He might manage the performance for a few days, sure... but a month? Two? Could anyone keep their true nature hidden forever under sustained observation?