Rao lifted his glass and let the wine slip into his mouth. He had opened a good bottle for an important occasion, but he couldn’t taste it. Staring at the dark red ripple in the glass, Rao spoke.
“The Hands?”
His voice was low—closer to confirming something he already knew than to expressing surprise or suspicion. Yuni looked at Rao with startled eyes for a moment, then, as if there were no reason it should be strange that he knew, changed her expression and nodded.
“I was approached when I was in Chicago. It just... unintentionally overlapped in timing with the New York branch talk, but that’s not what made up my mind.”
As if she herself didn’t know why she was offering such an excuse, Yuni gave a bitter smile and lowered her head.
Then, for Chief Han and Juhan—who knew nothing about any of this—she summarized the situation in a steady but strained voice. There wasn’t much to tell; it was simple.
“Taking that offer doesn’t mean you’re betraying Phantom. No one thinks that.”
“Chief!”
At Chief Han’s response, Juhan grabbed her shoulder roughly and shouted. But at the calm look she turned on him, he had to swallow his words.
“It’s a position you were offered because of the effort you’ve put in and the skill you’ve built, and we all know you’ve been working steadily because you wanted to work in a city where art is a bit more active. And if it’s a global organization that doesn’t borrow the identity of a single country or city, that might be the best opportunity possible for you.”
“......”
Lightly holding Yuni’s arm, Chief Han looked deep into her eyes, which were wobbling with confusion.
“You’ve been preparing all this time; why hesitate when a good place finally offers? You’ve fulfilled your obligations to Phantom by coming here and working hard up to now.”
Yuni nodded at Chief Han’s words, but hesitation, guilt, and confusion still mingled in her gaze.
“Sir, say something!”
Juhan was far more agitated than when he’d heard that Rao and Ihyeon would leave in two weeks to open the New York branch. No one here was unaware of what Juhan and Yuni had been to each other, or how much two people flung out of their families had leaned on each other.
It wasn’t hard to guess that before making this decision, Baek Yuni had found it difficult to bring it up with Juhan first. He was raging now, shocked and excited, but with time, Kwon Juhan would likely come to understand her feelings.
“It’s Baek Yuni’s life. What exactly do you want me to say to that?”
Because he knew all this, Rao deliberately doused Juhan’s agitation with cold water.
“You say you’ll abandon Phantom, and that’s why Baek Yuni is doing this ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ too! It’s your responsibility, so fix it!”
At Juhan’s fierce accusation, it was Yuni who raised her voice this time.
“Kwon Juhan, what are you saying? You think I’d make a decision this important out of some petty rebellion? That’s not why. And I don’t think the CEO is abandoning Phantom either.”
“Oh, really? Because to me, both the CEO and you are abandoning Phantom—how about that?”
Grinding his molars and glaring, Juhan shoved his chair back and snatched the jacket draped over the back.
“Is this what all those years together were for, so we could get a done-deal notice like this? If everyone was going to claim sole ownership because it’s their life and theirs alone... then you should’ve drawn a clean line from the start and kept it strictly professional. If it was going to be like this, why have you acted like friends... like family?”
No one offered a convincing rebuttal. Juhan’s reaction was immature and emotional, but at least those present—the very people who had built this relationship—couldn’t scold him with an objective yardstick and tell him to stop being childish.
In the face of a child’s unfiltered cry that he wanted to believe life meant living with those precious to you... no one could put on an adult’s voice and pretend to be mature, saying that no, in the end life belongs to each person alone—that bitter realization time and experience hand down.
As Juhan picked up his phone from the table and turned to go, Rao spoke in a tight, low voice.
“Take your souvenir.”
Juhan glanced down once at the shopping bags under the table—the random travel gifts Rao had distributed before the meal began. Instead of picking one up, he looked at Ihyeon in the seat beside Rao and spoke with warning emphasis.
“I told you, didn’t I? That if it came to actually leaving, he’s the kind of person who would never try to hold you back. He may be kind and sweet, but he never tries to go all the way in, and he never lets you in either.”
“......”
“Think carefully.”
Letting the cold air blow straight from the raw cut of his wound, Juhan left the dining room without looking back. Only after the loud, deliberate slam of the door from the entryway beyond the living room did Rao sigh and stand up.
Feeling Ihyeon’s gaze rise along his profile, Rao set his jaw in a stiff, awkward smile and squeezed his shoulder once before letting go. It was meant to reassure him, but the upturned eyes were still filled with worry for Rao.
Gathering his cigarettes and lighter, Rao walked to the window and leaned by the half-open frame to light up.
He drew deeper and exhaled lower as he watched the three of them reflected in the glass, the room behind him mirrored like a pane. The memory of laughing over barbecue in the garden just a few months ago felt like a lie; clicking his tongue, he shoved the hand without the cigarette into his pants pocket.
In the black glass, the figure of Ihyeon glancing his way now and then looked like an illusion he couldn’t catch. The image was there on the pane, but if he turned around, it didn’t exist in the actual space...
Thinking that he’d grown uncharacteristically sentimental, Rao let out a dry, scratchy scoff and rested his forehead against the glass.
In the hush where no one wanted to be the first to move, the sound of the front door opening and closing suddenly cut into the dining room. Everyone turned their gaze to the dining-room entrance connected to the living room, hoping Juhan had come back.
“Kwon Juhan stormed out fuming—what’s with him?”
But it was Choi Inwoo who appeared, shrugging his shoulders.
“What do you want.”
Grinding out the half-smoked cigarette, Rao showed aggression at once. The timing was bad.
“I was about to ring the bell and Kwon Juhan barreled out. So I just came in.”
“Nobody invited you. Why are you here.”
“I heard you were back in the country and got no call, so I got curious and came by—why? Is there a problem?”
Standing close enough to shove a shoulder any second, Rao knit his brow and moved in. Inwoo looked up at him with a provoking little snort. Then, confirming the three faces over Rao’s shoulder, he shook his head.
“Hm... looks like there is a problem. So this isn’t the Phantom overflowing with love and happiness?”
Chief Han, who had been propping her elbows on the table and covering her mouth with a lightly clenched fist as she thought, rose from her seat.
“I’ll get going. Yuni, you too. I’ll drive you.”
Collecting her trench coat and briefcase, Chief Han let out a heavy sigh and then, as if resolved, spoke.
“If Director Ryu says Phantom is his, I can’t refute that. But... the kids being shocked and feeling sore—that’s something Director Ryu has to accept. As the owner you’ve decided, and you’re insisting it must be done, so we’ll proceed as told. Still, as someone who helped pull Phantom this far, I can’t say I’m completely convinced by how this is happening.”
“I don’t think it’s mine. If Chief Han hadn’t come with me from Hong Kong, Phantom wouldn’t even exist.”
From the dining-room entrance behind Chief Han, Rao, raking his fingers roughly through his hair, spoke.
“Right, I don’t doubt you think that. But essentially—also on paper—Phantom belongs to you. If we’d taken more time and shown more respect in preparing, what could have ended without anyone getting hurt... why it has to be pushed through now, in such a hurry—honestly, I still don’t fully understand. You were never that ambitious about success or influence. Or is there a lot I didn’t know about you?”
Finishing, Chief Han let her gaze fall briefly to Ihyeon. Of the many artists under Phantom, she must only today have become certain of Rao and Ihyeon’s relationship—on hearing Rao planned to take Ihyeon, not yet even formally debuted, to New York.
Guilty for having kept the relationship quiet, Ihyeon lowered his eyes, but the look Chief Han gave him spoke of concern and care, not blame. Fixing his gaze on Ihyeon’s bowed head across the table, Rao muttered weakly, like a man drained of all venom.
“You can’t know everything about someone... And as Kwon Juhan says, I’m the kind of person who can’t let anyone in deep.”
Today of all days, Ihyeon’s unusually bloodless face turned toward him slowly. Looking at that small face that trusted him, that with a heart full of wounds was trying with everything he had to love him, Rao felt the slow submergence into an irredeemable pit.
“In that case, even if there are things I haven’t told anyone here... it wouldn’t be surprising, would it.”
With a dulled look and voice, he added it like resignation, shoved Inwoo’s shoulder aside, and went back to the window to look for his cigarettes.
Chief Han’s voice followed him.
“I hope you won’t start with talk about keeping public and private separate when it comes to how Juhan reacted. That reaction is the result of you not treating the kids as just employees.”
Before leaving after Chief Han, Yuni set a hand on Ihyeon’s shoulder, and Ihyeon clasped Yuni’s hand tightly without a word.
No one spoke until the sounds of the two of them crossing the living room and disappearing out the front door faded. Only the shopping bags full of souvenirs they’d left behind remained under the table.
“Isn’t this Qubey sushi? What a waste.”
Dropping into the chair Chief Han had occupied, Inwoo looked over the table.
They’d pulled strings at a favorite place that doesn’t do takeout and set out a lavish omakase sushi dinner, but everyone had only made a token effort; most of the food remained untouched.
“It’s fine. Leave it.”
As Ihyeon hesitated to get up and start clearing plates, Rao stopped him in a low voice. Looking back and forth between Rao and Inwoo, Ihyeon quietly set the plates down and brushed his arms.
“Then I’ll... go downstairs for a bit.”
At the words that he’d head down, Rao, relieved, moved to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray—when Inwoo stopped Ihyeon, who had just rounded the table and was stepping out of the dining room.
“Mr. Ihyeon, how’s your health? It didn’t get worse during the trip, did it?”
“Yes... thanks to you...”
Ignoring the knife-edge tension, Inwoo made small talk; Ihyeon answered stiffly, wearing an awkward look.
Rao lifted the cigarette he’d been about to crush in the ashtray back to his lips and drew deep. His hand on the window frame behind him clenched hard on its own.
“You know neurosomatic issues are harder to fully cure, right? If you lose your appetite or feel queasy again, come to our hospital any time. Even if I’m not at the hospital, if it’s you, Mr. Ihyeon, I can meet personally and treat you whenever. Leave the medical consults to me, okay?”
“Yes, thank you...”
Pretending not to notice Ihyeon’s awkwardness, Inwoo turned his body and sipped from a glass of wine someone had left half-full on the table.
“While you two were away on business, there was a big incident at our hospital. After that, it really hit me that you never know when or where something’s going to happen.”
Turning back with the wineglass in hand, Inwoo slung an arm over the chair back and raised his brows, smiling meaningfully.
“Always be careful, Mr. Ihyeon. There’s nothing wrong with caution.”
“......”
Not quite grasping the intent Inwoo seemed to be emphasizing sotto voce, Ihyeon wore a puzzled look but nodded. Then he looked to Rao at the window.
Betrayed and not even knowing it, his eyes were warm with concern for Rao. Letting out a groan inside, Rao crushed the cigarette out roughly and strode to him.
“Tired, right? Go down and get some rest.”
He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and guided him out of the dining room. All he could think was that he needed to get him away from Inwoo as quickly as possible.
Glancing back at Inwoo sitting at the table, Ihyeon hesitated, apparently reluctant to leave the two of them alone.
“We’ll have a drink, just the two of us. As it happens, I’m in the mood to get a little drunk today—perfect.”
It took a fair amount of energy to pretend Inwoo’s visit didn’t faze him and even joke that it was for the best. Stroking the long hair at Ihyeon’s nape as if to say he fully understood the mood to get drunk, he told him to sleep first in a low whisper. Then he gave him a brief kiss at the stairs down to the studio.
Still worried, Ihyeon ran his hand along the banister as he went down and looked back at Rao several times. Leaning his shoulder against the wall with his arms folded, Rao looked down at him and made a playful gesture of wiping away tears; only then did Ihyeon manage the faintest smile.
The instant he vanished from sight, Rao wiped the smile from his face, crossed the living room at a quick clip, and headed for the dining room. He went straight for Inwoo, grabbed him by the collar, and yanked him up. The wineglass in Inwoo’s hand toppled, pouring dark red across the table, but Rao didn’t care.
“What do you think you’re doing.”
“What.”
Inwoo didn’t even try to pry him off; he only lifted his chin.
