The black sedan glided through the iron gates of the "Golden Triangle," passing the familiar turnoff to the Lee residence and heading deeper into the heart of the wealthy district.
"You're eating with us," Chae-rin announced suddenly, breaking the silence.
I froze.
I looked at the driver's seat. Through the rearview mirror, Chairman Yoo Jae-man's eyes met mine. His gaze was heavy, cold, and explicitly screamed: If you step foot in my house, I will bury you in the garden.
I looked at Chae-rin. Her hazel eyes were sharp, narrowing with a look that explicitly screamed: If you refuse my invitation, I will bury you in the garden myself.
It was a lose-lose situation. But Chae-rin was closer.
"I... would be honored," I lied, my voice cracking.
The last time I had been in the presence of Yoo Jae-man, I had been holding a bottle of Ukrainian Horilka as a 'gift,' which led to the infamous incident that nearly got me deported. The air in the car was thick enough to choke on.
The car pulled up to a house that mirrored the Lee mansion but felt colder. More marble, less wood. Sharper angles.
We entered the foyer.
"You're back?"
A woman with Chae-rin's eyes but a softer face descended the stairs—Mrs. Yoo. Behind her trailed a younger girl, Chae-rin's sister, who looked at me with curiosity.
"We have a guest," Chae-rin said, handing her bag to a maid. "Set another place."
We moved to the dining room. It was vast, dominated by a long table set with crystal and silver.
But it wasn't just the Yoo family.
Two other people were already seated, sipping wine.
My stomach did a backflip. I recognized them instantly. Not from school, but from the frantic Google search I had done after Ha-neul explained the family dynamics.
The man was bald, bespectacled, and radiated an aura of absolute authority. Park Jin-ho. The Chairman of the Foundation and the Principal of Hanyeong Arts High School. The father of Park Jin-woo. Uncle of Jin-hyun
Next to him sat a woman with perfect posture and a face I'd seen on election posters. The daughter of a prominent assemblyman. Jin-woo's mother.
"Ah, Jae-man," Chairman Park said, his voice smooth like oiled leather. "And Chae-rin. You're late."
Then, his gaze shifted to me.
He didn't look surprised. He didn't look confused. He looked... amused.
"And you brought the pet project," Chairman Park smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.
"Good evening," I bowed deeply, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I am Oleksandr Motuzenko. I attend Kirin Arts—"
"I know who you are, Mr. Motuzenko," Chairman Park interrupted, gesturing for me to sit.
I sat down awkwardly between Chae-rin and her sister. The silence was deafening, broken only by the clinking of silverware.
"So," Chairman Park said, slicing his steak with surgical precision. "How is life at Kirin? Is the 'rubble' comfortable?"
"It is... spirited," I replied diplomatically.
"Spirited," he chuckled. "A polite word for chaotic."
He took a sip of wine.
"You seem confused, young man. You're wondering how the Principal of Hanyeong knows a random transfer student from Kirin."
"I... admit I was curious, sir," I said.
Chairman Park wiped his mouth with a napkin.
"People think the Arts Highs are separate entities," he began, lecturing the table. "But administratively, every international exchange must be approved by the Seoul Arts High Council. The unified body."
He looked at Yoo Jae-man, who was eating silently.
"The Council is mostly my people," Park continued. "So, when Principal Lee—that stubborn old mule running Kirin—came to the Council begging for a special admission, I had to approve it."
"A special admission?" I asked.
"For his grandson," Park said. "Han Leo. He wanted his precious grandson to enter Kirin despite missing the entrance exams due to his... 'health' abroad."
I blinked.
"I agreed to let the grandson in," Chairman Park said, leaning back. "But on one condition. I told him: 'If you want to break the rules for your blood, you must accept one more exchange student of my choosing.' A Quid Pro Quo."
He pointed his knife at me.
"I looked through the pile of applicants from our partner schools in Europe. Thousands of talented kids. Pianists from Italy, violinists from Germany."
He smiled, a cold, predatory expression.
"But I didn't want talent. I wanted a variable. Something that would disrupt Kirin's harmony. Something that would prove that Principal Lee's 'global vision' is a joke."
He looked me right in the eye.
"So, I filtered the list by the lowest academic score. The weirdest portfolio. The one with the least formal training."
The table was silent.
Chae-rin had stopped eating.
"We chose the worst one," Chairman Park said softly, raising his glass to me.