The world outside the tinted glass of the sedan looked like a dream—or a nightmare—depending on the day. Doyun Nam watched the city of Seoul scream past in a blur of gray and neon. To anyone else, it was just traffic and steel, but to him, the towering screens felt alien, a sharp, artificial contrast to the suffocating darkness he carried in his memory.
He didn't speak. He didn't have to. The silence was his only constant companion.
When the car pulled up to the towering glass monolith of the N Group headquarters, Doyun stepped out into the humid air. The moment his leather shoes hit the pavement, the atmosphere changed. Employees scattered like baitfish, bowing low in a synchronized hum of "Good morning, Director." Doyun didn't return the smiles. He didn't even blink. He moved through the lobby like a ghost haunting his own empire, his silence so heavy it made people hold their breath until he had passed.
He reached his top-floor office, the heavy door clicking shut to offer a second of blessed quiet. But it was a fragile peace.
The door burst open. Min-joon walked in, checking his watch before fixing Doyun with the frustrated gaze of a man who had survived literal wars alongside him.
"You're late again," Min-joon snapped, leaning over the desk. "I called you fifteen times last night. My thumb is literally sore, Doyun. Why didn't you pick up?"
Doyun sat down, his movements slow and deliberate. He looked at his hands—hands that felt too clean, too soft for the things he remembered doing. Finally, he looked up at his only friend.
"I slept early," Doyun said. His voice was low, a rare, sandpaper sound in the sterile building.
Min-joon stared at him. He knew that look. He'd known Doyun since they were kids in middle school, back when they had nothing but bruised knuckles and shared secrets. He knew Doyun was lying, but he also knew when to stop pushing.
He sighed, tossing a file onto the desk. "Fine. Whatever hole you crawled into last night, climb out of it now. You have lunch with the H Group. It's a shark tank, and you're the main course if you don't show up sharp. Get it together."
The hours bled into one another until the midday sun hit the glass desk at a sharp, biting angle.
"It's time," Min-joon said, standing up and snapping his laptop shut. "The H Group executives are in Boardroom B. Let's go."
They walked through the executive wing in a silence that felt like a march toward a battlefield. Min-joon pushed the heavy double doors open, and the chatter inside died instantly. A dozen executives stood in a wave of dark suits, the air in the room pressurizing under the weight of Doyun's arrival.
"Good afternoon, Director Nam," the head of the delegation said, bowing.
Doyun didn't answer. He scanned the room, pulled out the chair at the head of the marble table, and sat. "Let's begin," he said, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
The boardroom was stifling, thick with the scent of expensive cologne and silent anxiety. Doyun sat like a cold shadow, ignoring the files and the nervous glances of his board members. But as his gaze drifted toward the end of the table, his breath suddenly hitched.
His heart, which had been a dormant stone for two years, hammered violently against his ribs.
There was a woman sitting near the end of the table. For a split second, the world tilted. She had a sharp, familiar radiance that felt like a physical punch to his chest. Doyun stared, mesmerized and horrified, unable to look away from the way the light caught her features.
"Director Nam?" Min-joon whispered, nudging him.
Doyun didn't blink. He just leaned back, his eyes locked on her.
"We shall begin the proposal," a manager announced.
The woman stood up. She smoothed her blazer and stepped to the front. She didn't tremble. As she began to speak, her voice filled the room—clear, intelligent, and commanding. She spoke of logistics and market projections with a brilliance that made complex numbers sound like poetry.
When she finished, a tentative silence followed. The room waited for Doyun's usual cold, soul-crushing critique. Instead, he leaned forward.
"Excellent," he said.
The word was like a thunderclap. The N Group executives exchanged shocked glances; Doyun Nam never gave compliments. He was the man who tore apart million-dollar deals with a single sentence. As the room erupted into surprised applause, Doyun ignored the noise. He waited for the clapping to die, his gaze pinned to the woman gathering her notes.
"You," Doyun said, his voice low and dangerously focused.
She paused, looking up. Her eyes met his, and for a heartbeat, Doyun felt a chilling sense of déjà vu so strong it made his head swim.
"What is your name?" he asked.
The woman straightened her shoulders, her voice steady. "My name is Chae-won. Lee Chae-won."
The name hit him like a physical blow. The air in the room turned thin, impossible to breathe. Doyun's expression shattered. The cold mask he had spent years perfecting fell away, revealing a raw, jagged grief that made even Min-joon flinch in his seat.
Doyun didn't say another word. He just sat there, his face ashen, his eyes clouded with a sorrow that had just been dragged, screaming, back to the surface.