Let Me Weep

“I’m sorry, Director. The roads are clogged. We’ll be a bit late.”

The driver’s face was thick with embarrassment as the delay stretched longer than expected. Eun-seong, seated in the passenger seat, turned back and added, “We’ll be stuck here for at least twenty more minutes.”

Mujin opened the window without answering. He downed a glass of water as if to shake off the frustration, then loosened his tie. Of all places, the meeting spot had to be a sky lounge at the top of a mountain. The steep hill was already choked with cars pouring in on a Saturday afternoon. With narrow roads and heavy traffic, once it jammed, there was no escape.

“Park somewhere decent.”

His words to the driver made Eun-seong turn with a dubious look. “Here, Director? You’re not planning to walk up, are you?”

“Yes.”

Mujin didn’t like the rising tone in Eun-seong’s voice and shot back a curt answer as if asking if there was a problem. The driver watched through the rearview mirror and cautiously said, “Director, the slope here is extremely steep. Are you sure?”

“There’s a spot up ahead where we can pull over like a shoulder.”

Mujin pointed out where to stop. When the car parked, he glanced at his aide who was getting out with him. “Manager Choi, you don’t have to follow.”

Eun-seong, straightening his back after stepping out, widened his eyes as if he hadn’t heard right. His large eyes, framed with double eyelids, bulged like a frog’s. “I’m going to walk up to get some air. Go ahead and wait.”

“Director, the path up the mountain is secluded. There’s a forest and a park inside. If something happens…”

“So, what, you’ll guard me?”

Mujin curled the corner of his mouth. Eun-seong awkwardly fell silent.

Not long after he became Mujin’s executive secretary, he had volunteered when Mujin was looking for a sparring partner. Back then, he was proud of his black belt and still green enough not to know the true nature of the man named Cheon Mujin.

He’d stood in the practice ring with confident boasts. But he swore he hadn’t known that Mujin’s previous sparring partner was from a foreign CCT. He hadn’t taken Mujin’s warning seriously either—that he wouldn’t go easy, so don’t step up half-heartedly.

Cheon Mujin was a man who lived by his word.

The match was over in less than a minute, but Mujin didn’t let him run. With a ruthless grip that showed no mercy, Eun-seong was crushed like tofu, bones breaking. That day, he realized that Cheon Mujin’s elite image was just a façade.

Recalling that nightmare from long ago, Eun-seong unconsciously rubbed his elbow.

Regardless of strength, that man treated anyone who opposed him equally—by trampling them as if to kill. If there was no contact, he couldn’t have been more indifferent, but if you challenged him, he made you pay in blood. His work methods were especially vicious; once he set his sights on someone, he’d pick their bones clean. No wonder people called him a viper. When he later realized that even getting a few broken bones for his reckless defiance was actually leniency, he was stunned.

“Still, for safety… having more…”

Mujin ignored his trailing protest and turned away. Eun-seong watched his back awkwardly and muttered, “Then maybe don’t go around doing things that warrant a knife. And it’s only me who gets hurt unfairly.”

Even when asked to take bodyguards, Mujin didn’t listen. When Eun-seong first met the younger senior, notorious for rumors, in a shabby Philadelphia café, he hadn’t known that the man’s quiet tone masked a psychopathic level of venom.

Only when certain his boss couldn’t hear did Eun-seong let out his complaints as he climbed back into the car. “A person should at least act human.”

The car merged back into the gridlocked road and crawled forward. In the distance, Mujin’s broad back seemed to sway as he effortlessly tackled the steep incline. Eun-seong watched the man trampling through piles of leaves in million-won shoes with a sour look.

Anyway, he was an incredible man. The de facto heir whom even Chairman Kwon—every businessperson would shake their head at—was cautious around. With outstanding ability, a face that proved the world’s unfairness, and overwhelming charisma.

He had lived savoring that the world lay at his feet, and he would continue to do so. Everything about him was so perfect that it inspired awe rather than envy. Someone like that probably never knew fear.

Feeling a fresh pang of jealousy, Eun-seong watched the man’s receding back and asked the driver to let him out too.

He had refrained from following because his boss seemed to want to be alone, but it was time to catch up. He couldn’t ride in comfort while his boss walked, even if it meant climbing in a suit. What a nuisance.

As if blaming the absent man, he looked at the backseat. Files lay abandoned on the empty seat—the documents Mujin had been reading earlier. When the car jolted, the files scattered, revealing a photo of a young boy’s face. The address on the file was the house at the top of the hill. The trainee who lived in that luxurious mansion: Lee Hae-jun.

Eun-seong sighed involuntarily.

****

Striding up the hill, Mujin swiftly passed high-end homes boasting refined color schemes. This area, thick with natural landscaping, grew more exclusive and secluded as the road ascended. And at the very top stood the hill of the castle he had destroyed.

His gaze fell on a crowd gathered at a park that formed a flat midway up the slope. As he watched the somewhat noisy space, a thin melody reached his ears.

His feet, which had paused, turned toward the sound. It wasn’t for any particular reason—just an unconscious urge to hear the vague music clearly. He changed direction, crossing the road until he reached the crowd.

Standing at the edge of the wall of people, Mujin’s height, well above average, let him see clearly.

The busking group seemed to be college students. Among them, one man caught his eye as he was catching his breath. Exchanging signals with a fellow handling the sound, he stood before the audience.

Lee Hae-jun.

Recognizing the protagonist, Mujin’s lips curled slightly.

He clearly didn’t know that Mujin had crushed his family. To coincidentally come to his agency at this time? The thought of someone engineering it crossed his mind, but if that were the case, they wouldn’t have sent such a brat. That he had stumbled into the entertainment world was pure chance—and quite striking.

Lee Hae-jun adjusted his violin under his chin and paused to steady his breath.

Not Mujin’s type, but undeniably eye-catching. Refined features and a lean but well-proportioned body. A gaze that provoked malice with its pure atmosphere—troubling.

Soon, the delicate trembling of the strings flowed out. Mujin listened absently, then remembered he was late for a meeting and turned his head. Just as he was about to fully turn away from the stage, a voice clear as a prayer stopped him.

Mujin’s shoulders spun as if pulled. Hae-jun, who had lowered his violin for a moment, was holding the microphone. From between his slightly parted, thick lips, a voice like an angel’s cry emerged in the form of a vocalise.

…Ave Maria by Vavilov.

During the interlude, the intermittent murmuring ceased instantly.

The quiet, clear timbre rang out in humming without lyrics. It was a voice as immaculate and pure as a spotless soul, with no high techniques or flashy embellishment. The melody resounded in the air, reverent, calm, yet dreamlike.

Slowly, Mujin’s fist tightened. A strange, unpleasant emotion coiled violently around him. The voice echoing in the sky pierced the tightly sealed interior, churning up past memories. The heavenly voice, Ave Maria, had once been like a dream to him when he was struggling in the mud.

That voice dug into and stirred old dark memories, spewing out fragments of a filthy past he himself had forgotten, making him nauseous.

Memories of the dirty, grimy bottom.

Mujin glared at the owner of the voice that was climbing toward its climax, as if he could kill him.

The remains of the past, which he had arrogantly thought were firmly buried, were being carelessly stirred up, and he couldn’t handle the anger. His body burned hot, and red impulses raged uncontrollably.

When the piece ended, thunderous applause erupted from the audience, but Mujin pressed his lips together tightly.

“You were here, Director.”

A voice from behind Mujin pulled him back to reality. Eun-seong, who had caught up, looked at the noisy place with curiosity, then recognized Hae-jun and widened his eyes. “That guy… is that him?”

“…….”

“I heard it on the way up. The sound was—how should I put it—beautiful. For a man over twenty to produce such a clear tone.”

Mujin looked at Eun-seong, who was murmuring in admiration, with cold eyes. Slowly, he parted his sealed lips. “Contact Director Park of Alive.”

“Yes, understood.”

Eun-seong answered without a second thought, but then caught himself and studied Mujin’s expression. Was it really okay to nurture him? Wouldn’t it become troublesome if Director Cheon later learned about his relationship with the late father?

Mujin left Eun-seong behind and turned around. He moved quickly, only regaining his composure once he reached a place where the singing could no longer be heard. Ignoring his secretary trying to catch up, he climbed the hill, fully calming his shaken mind, then looked back down at the area he’d passed. The aria Hae-jun had sung before he left came to mind.

From the opera Rinaldo: “Lascia ch’io pianga.”

If that’s what you want, so be it.

Mujin wore a cynical smile. If your wish is to weep bitterly, I’ll gladly grant it. As the price for carelessly stirring my insides, I can at least give you what you desire.