The heavy dining hall fell into suffocating silence.
Every eye at the long oak table locked onto me.
Chairman Park Jin-ho leaned back in his leather chair, a patronizing, expectant smile still lingering on his lips, waiting for the humble, obedient retreat of a foreign exchange student.
I took a slow, deep breath, resting my heavy hands flat on the polished tablecloth. The Ukrainian stubbornness deep behind my ribs flared to life, burning right through the intimidating aura of the Park dynasty.
"No," I said cleanly.
My single, deep word hung in the air like a dropped anvil.
Park Jin-ho's smile instantly froze.
"If the time comes, and every single member of the group unanimously decides that I should step down," I continued, looking straight into the Chairman's cold eyes, my voice steady and unyielding, "then I will gladly give up the position. But for now... I suggest you focus on preparing your own Hanyeong bands for the Winter Festival."
"How insolent!"
A sharp, high-pitched voice shattered the quiet. Park Jin-ho's wife snapped her linen napkin onto the table, her face flushed with aristocratic outrage as she glared at me.
"How dare a mere guest—an exchange student on our foundation's charity—speak to the Chairman with such disrespectful arrogance?!"
Before I could formulate a polite response, a low, melodic laugh echoed from across the table.
Jin-hyun's mother—the wife of Park Jin-su—slender, poised, and utterly unfazed, swirled her wine glass with lazy elegance.
"Oh, Mi-ra-ya..." Jin-hyun's mother said casually, calling the Chairman's wife by her given name with a subtle, razor-sharp edge. "Aren't you a bit too full of yourself tonight? I think the boy made his point crystal clear. It will be the collective decision of his bandmates."
She set her glass down with a delicate clink, leaning forward slightly.
"And if they decide that San stays, or if Jin-woo simply joins H-Wnot as a member, you should abandon your naive hopes of forcefully resurrecting W-Naut. Moreover... the previous accident proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jin-woo is not always the center of the universe—"
Tap.
Park Jin-su reached out, his long fingers lightly touching his wife's wrist. He didn't say a word, but the brief, firm contact was an absolute command. Jin-hyun's mother instantly pursed her lips, cutting her sentence short, and smoothly raised her glass to her lips in quiet obedience.
Across the table, Park Jin-ho's jaw clutched so tightly a muscle twitched in his cheek.
Before the verbal war could detonate any further, the old patriarch at the head of the table leaned forward in his wheelchair, his weathered hand resting heavily on the oak surface.
"Indeed," Grandpa's rich, commanding voice cut through the tension like a broadsword. "It will not be the solitary decision of Jin-woo, nor of anyone in this room. It belongs to the group. Should they decide they do not want him to join—or should they welcome him with open arms—you shall accept both outcomes without interference, Jin-ho."
Chairman Park Jin-ho bowed his head slightly, biting back his protest.
"Understood... Father."
Grandpa nodded slowly, the tension in his eyes easing as he smoothly shifted the direction of the conversation.
"Now then... how is Jin-woo's actual state progressing?"
Park Jin-ho shot one final, icy glance toward Jin-hyun's mother before clearing his throat, his tone turning cautious and guarded.
"Dr. Min-hyuk informed us this morning that his neural metrics are stabilizing. He noted that Jin-woo might regain consciousness much sooner than the initial forecasts suggested."
A quiet, collective shift passed through the family.
Grandpa let out a long, grounded breath, his aged face softening into a genuine, relieved smile.
He slowly raised his crystal wine glass into the warm light of the central chandelier.
"To Jin-woo's swift recovery," the Founder announced, his voice steady. "To life, and to the future."
"To Jin-woo," the table echoed in unison.
I picked up my glass of crimson wine, leaning sideways to clink it against Jin-hyun's, then Min-ah's, and finally offering a silent, respectful toast toward the old patriarch.
As the deep red liquid washed down my throat, I looked across the candlelit table at the quiet, brooding faces of the Park family.