Jae-Min stood in the grand conference room of Mirae Group, the boardroom where decisions that shaped the future of Korea's most powerful conglomerate were made. The walls were lined with dark mahogany, the long polished table reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights above. His father, Chairman Choi Seung-Hyun, sat at the head of the table, the other executives seated around him, their gazes shifting to Jae-Min as he entered.
It had been an odd sensation, walking into this room after all these years. The grandeur of the space, the weight of the eyes on him—it all felt both foreign and painfully familiar. The seat at the table, though, was now his. It was a position he'd never asked for but had no choice but to accept.
Chairman Choi's gaze met his with a mixture of expectation and disdain. "You're here to stay this time, I trust?" he said, his voice clipped, his words far from welcoming. Jae-Min couldn't help but notice the undercurrent of contempt still lurking beneath his father's stern demeanor. Nothing had changed, not really.
Jae-Min nodded, his face an unreadable mask. "I'm here to do my job."
Seung-Hyun gave a sharp nod, signaling the meeting to begin. No one said a word as they all turned to the various screens and projections on the wall, and Jae-Min settled into the chair that had once been a symbol of his failure. Yet, it was here that the test would begin. He didn't plan to disappoint.
For hours, Jae-Min listened, absorbed, and assessed. Every piece of data, every figure, every strategy—it was as if the years he had spent in the US, working, studying, obsessing over details, had prepared him for this moment. He spoke when needed, his voice calm and authoritative, offering solutions that cut through the noise. His analysis was sharp, his observations on the market and competition more astute than anyone had expected.
The executives were silent, watching him with a mix of skepticism and grudging respect. To them, he was the playboy who had vanished without a trace for three years. The son who had once been seen as a joke, a lazy heir with no real ambition. The fact that he was not only here but holding his ground, working with a focus they had never seen in him before, was enough to make them uneasy.
By the end of the meeting, it was clear: Jae-Min had not just shown up to play his part. He had outperformed every expectation.
But not everyone was impressed.
Later that day, as he was walking down the hallway to his office, Ji-Na, his older sister, appeared, blocking his path. She was all sharp edges and haughty superiority, a perfect reflection of the Choi family's expectations for their eldest child. She had always been the golden child, the one who was groomed for success. Her icy eyes narrowed when she saw him, a hint of challenge in the way she stood before him.
"So," she began, her tone dripping with condescension, "I see you've decided to actually try this time. What a surprise. How long will it last, I wonder?"
Jae-Min didn't respond immediately. He simply gazed at her, letting the silence linger as she waited for him to react.
"Do you really think you can just step in and take over like nothing ever happened?" she asked, her voice hardening. "You barely passed that... degree of yours at Harvard. You were a charity case, remember? I'm sure father will realize his mistake soon enough."
Her words were intended to sting, to remind him of his past, of the boy who had been cast aside as a failure, a disappointment. But Jae-Min wasn't the same person anymore. He could feel the old anger bubbling beneath the surface, but he controlled it, masking it with an outward calm.
"You don't need to worry about me," he said, his voice low and measured. "I'm doing what needs to be done."
Ji-Na's eyes flashed with a mix of annoyance and disbelief. "You're doing what needs to be done?" she scoffed. "Please. You've been given everything. All your life, you've had everything handed to you, and now you think you can just waltz in and play business mogul?"
Jae-Min remained unfazed. His eyes didn't leave hers, and there was no emotion in his expression. "You can think what you want," he said quietly, "but I'll be the one who makes this company grow. I'll be the one who ensures that Mirae remains at the top, while the rest of you keep squabbling over who gets the most attention."
Ji-Na's lips parted, but no words came out at first. Then she laughed—a short, mocking laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "You think you know more about business than me?" she asked incredulously, stepping closer to him. "You're just a failed economics student. You didn't even know how to handle your own life, let alone a company this big."
Jae-Min didn't flinch. He knew where this was going. He had no intention of flaunting his experience, not to her, not to anyone in this family. If she wanted to believe the version of him that had been fed to her all these years, so be it. Let her.
Instead, he smiled—just a small, knowing smile—and said, "I know more about business than you think. But you're right—I didn't handle my life well. I'm here now because I understand what it takes to succeed. And I'm not going to let anyone hold me back."
The shock on Ji-Na's face was priceless. She stood there for a moment, her mouth slightly open, her face flushed with disbelief. She hadn't expected him to speak like that. She certainly hadn't expected him to have the confidence to talk back.
Jae-Min turned to leave, his pace steady, his posture straight, and his demeanor calm. He didn't need to prove anything to her. The work he had done, the results he had delivered, would speak louder than any words.
And as he walked away, he could feel the weight of her gaze on him, the uncertainty in her eyes, and he knew that this time, he wasn't going to be the one left behind.