Words That Cut Deeper Than Truth

With a ding, the elevator came to a stop.

Through the transparent glass of the high-rise elevator, the world below looked dizzyingly distant.

As his tension spiked, Seha felt a wave of nausea rise up.

So this must be how a commoner feels when summoned before a king, he thought.

“W-wait a second!”

He didn’t even remember how they’d reached the chairman’s office.

When he opened his eyes, they were already standing in front of the door.

Startled, Seha stopped short, and Donghyun asked,

“Are you okay?”

Before Seha could answer, Jeongyun cut in.

“If you’re scared, why don’t you just quit now.

Save yourself from seeing something worse later.”

At this point, it was practically a threat.

If he didn’t quit of his own accord now, Jeongyun was clearly implying that he’d make sure Seha suffered later.

Strangely enough, the moment Seha heard that threat, his wildly racing heart began to calm.

The harder Jeongyun tried to drive him out, the more stubbornly Seha wanted to stay.

He’d endured worse people for far less pay, multiple times a day.

There was no way he was giving up a job this good.

Seha barely held back the urge to snort and mock Jeongyun back as he replied,

“Scared of what.

I’m just a little nervous.

I’m fine now, Secretary.”

After speaking, Seha straightened his clothes.

They were cheap, but he didn’t want to look sloppy.

He’d chosen the neatest outfit he had, but standing next to Cha Jeongyun, the grandson of a conglomerate family, and Donghyun in his polished suit, it was hard not to worry.

Just then, the staff member stationed outside the chairman’s office finished announcing them and opened the door.

Seha clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and stepped inside—

like a general marching into battle, or rather, a lowly foot soldier.

“Does the coffee suit your taste?”

“Huh?

Ah, yes.

It’s delicious.

The aroma is really nice.”

Seha answered like that and took another sip of coffee.

Honestly, he had no room to savor the flavor, but he said it anyway.

His mouth felt bone-dry.

With summer approaching, at least it was iced coffee.

However, there was one man here for whom none of this was fortunate.

Jeongyun, sitting across from Seha with his legs crossed, immediately snapped at his grandmother.

“Grandma, why are you speaking so politely to someone like that?”

“Jeongyun.”

At the same time, Insuk shot Jeongyun a stern look, but he didn’t care.

He already hated how his grandmother revered that old shaman, calling her Bosal, and Jin Seha was even worse.

“Since we’re talking about it, Grandma, that guy doesn’t know anything.

He’s not some mystical type or anything.

He’s just here to scam you out of money.”

Seha, sitting right there, barely puffed out his lips in a sulk that no one noticed.

Annoyingly enough, it was all true, so he had nothing to say.

He’d already admitted he had no such abilities, but people could change their minds at any time.

Seha darted glances at the chairwoman, gauging her reaction.

Fortunately, Insuk didn’t scold Seha.

Instead, she turned to Jeongyun.

“You should watch your words when we have a guest.”

“Grandma.”

“Seha, are you having any trouble settling in?”

Ignoring Jeongyun’s disgruntled voice, Insuk addressed Seha directly.

There was clear goodwill in her tone, and Seha finally felt a bit relieved as he nodded.

“No.

Thanks to your consideration, I’m living very comfortably.

Honestly, I sometimes wonder if it’s okay for me to be this comfortable….”

“Our Jeongyun isn’t giving you a hard time, is he?”

In truth, subordinates were supposed to pretend everything was fine.

No matter how difficult things were, no matter how much resentment they had.

Inside, Seha wanted to say that her precious grandson cursed at him daily and had even grabbed him by the collar and slammed him down before.

But he held back.

After all, Cha Jeongyun was the chairwoman’s grandson.

Blood always sided with blood.

The kindness Insuk was showing him would surely disappear if he openly blamed Jeongyun.

So Seha put on the smile of a low-ranking employee and politely prepared to answer.

Or rather, he tried to.

“What’s hard for him.

I’m the one suffering.

That fake shaman bastard’s got it easy.”

Jeongyun, who had been glaring at Seha with his arms crossed, cut in.

Seha snapped his mouth shut.

This time, Insuk—now wearing a deliberately stern expression—continued the conversation instead.

“Jeongyun.”

“Why did you even call me here.

You wouldn’t even take my calls before.

What, were you trying to make me and him friends?”

“Cha Jeongyun.”

“I told you clearly I hate this kind of thing.

Wasn’t it enough letting that shaman bleed you dry, now you’ve got this bastard too—!”

“We’ll talk about that later.

Watch your language in front of others.”

“If he doesn’t act like a person, why should I treat him like one?”

Jeongyun finally raised his voice.

Insuk silently looked at her grandson.

To Insuk, Jeongyun was a grandson she’d gladly give her life for.

And Jeongyun truly loved his grandmother, who had raised him after his parents died and endured countless hardships.

But that was only in their hearts.

On the surface, they were not a warm, affectionate grandmother-and-grandson pair.

Long-standing grief drives wedges between people.

Not just arguments—

it builds walls so high that loved ones can no longer show their feelings freely.

Death had been too close to them.

They saw it every time they looked at each other.

The grandmother saw the shadow of death looming over her grandson,

and the grandson saw his parents’ deaths reflected in his grandmother’s eyes.

People who feel loss and sorrow whenever they face each other cannot grow close easily, no matter how much they love one another.

Insuk and Jeongyun were exactly that.

That distance only grew wider with time.

Jeongyun shouted as if screaming.

“Don’t you get it.

Those things that barely count as people are using you.

Using me as leverage.”

“……”

“Do you even care how miserable that makes me.

This is just for your own satisfaction, isn’t it.

So don’t expect me to acknowledge it as something you’re doing for me.”

After finishing, Jeongyun jumped to his feet.

He shot Seha—sitting there at a loss—a murderous glare, then turned and stormed out.

Seha clasped his hands tightly together.

It was embarrassing to witness something so private,

but more than that, he felt the weight of the pain crushing their lives.

Everyone had their own circumstances.

Even the rich had worries and suffering of their own.

Seha had always thought that couldn’t compare to worrying about daily survival.

And he still believed that.

But glimpsing even a fragment of their lives—once only imagined—made him realize how meaningless and arrogant it was to judge another person’s hardship.

His chest felt tight.

“…Chairwoman.”

After silently collecting his thoughts, Seha finally spoke.

Insuk, who had been staring down at the floor, raised her gaze to him.

Maintaining such composure in this situation was impressive.

Perhaps not just anyone could be the head of a conglomerate.

“I’m sorry, Seha.

I thought we could just greet each other and ease the atmosphere, but I ended up putting you in an awkward position.”

“N-no.

It’s not that.

Rather….”

Seha paused, organizing his thoughts.

On the way here, he’d only been afraid of losing this precious job.

Now that he’d witnessed this, his feelings were far more complicated.

Jeongyun’s accident.

His parents’ deaths.

The long chain of misfortune that followed.

The thoughts rose and fell again and again.

He’d come here thinking he just needed the money.

For his younger sibling, being a little shameless and selfish was nothing.

But tearing apart a family that had endured so much—because of him—was too heavy to bear.

If things went wrong, he could earn the resentment of a powerful family and ruin his life.

If something happened to Jeongyun, the blame might fall on him.

Unfair or not, Seha and Sejin would never be able to stand against a conglomerate.

And yet, what weighed most heavily on Seha’s heart wasn’t those practical concerns.

“I think… it might be difficult for me to continue this job.

Like Cha Jeongyun said, I really don’t have any ability in that area.”

It was conscience.

The bare minimum morality Seha possessed as a human being.

Conscience didn’t put food on the table,

but there was a clear difference between living a little selfishly and becoming a fraud who ruined a family.

Then Insuk, who had been quietly watching Seha, spoke.

“Jin Seha, you’re a good person.”

“…Pardon?”

“Jeongyun is being uncooperative, so it must be very hard on you.

Enduring that alone already means you’re doing something remarkable.”

She wore a gentle smile.

As if she understood all of Seha’s conflict and guilt.