Hyeon-myeong’s mother, Yeom Mi-hye, was a beautiful and remarkably capable woman.
Raised in a warm rural household, she received a quality education before joining Choi Sun Mulsan as an entry-level employee, quickly rising through the ranks as one of the company’s brightest talents.
With peerless looks, exceptional competence, and an engaging personality, she was immensely popular. Even in her twenties, rival companies courted her with offers for executive positions, and second-generation chaebol heirs pursued her hand in marriage. One of those suitors was Hyeon-myeong’s father, Choi Jun-sik.
His mother eventually began dating his father. They married the following year, and Hyeon-myeong was born the year after that.
Yeom Mi-hye had an ambition that matched her outstanding ability. Recognizing her drive, aspirations, and talent, Choi Yong-chol, Chairman of Choi Sun Group, appointed her to an executive post at Choi Sun Mulsan, and she resumed working as soon as Hyeon-myeong entered elementary school.
Though Hyeon-myeong understood his mother’s dedication, he would still pout and throw tantrums at times. She, determined not to cast a shadow of loneliness over her son, did everything she could to indulge his wishes. She strove to be the best at the office and at home alike. That was how passionately she lived.
Then came a day around the time Hyeon-myeong turned nine.
Burning up with a raging fever, Hyeon-myeong threw a fit while his mother was away on a business trip to Sokcho. He whined, wept, and demanded she return home immediately. Frantic at the news that her only child was sick, Yeom Mi-hye cut her schedule short and boarded a helicopter.
Only a few minutes after takeoff, the sky darkened abruptly. Severe, unanticipated weather rolled in. Caught in fierce wind and lashing rain, the helicopter lost its balance in midair. Debris swept up by the gale damaged the rotor blades, and the uncontrollable aircraft plunged, crashing into the ground.
The pilot was killed instantly. Hyeon-myeong’s mother lingered between life and death in a coma for ten days before finally passing away. Hyeon-myeong stood watch over her motionless form the entire time, until it was time to say his final goodbye.
Ever since, Hyeon-myeong had lived a life devoid of urgency.
Things meant to happen would unfold without effort, and things doomed to fail would collapse no matter how desperately one wished for them.
If what couldn't be helped was impossible anyway, it was simply better to desire nothing at all.
He wanted very little to begin with, and whenever he did want something, it fell into his hands with ease. He felt no desperate yearning in anything he did. He never pushed himself to the edge.
In that detached existence, he met Hong Yu-yeon. Encountering that woman whose petite frame brimmed with vibrant energy stirred the first real ripples in his emotions.
He had felt an unearned surge of fury at the realization that her boyfriend was scum, and his failure to tell her the truth right then and there had lingered as a long-standing pang of guilt.
And that had sparked two years and four months of quiet support.
In truth, he had projected Hong Yu-yeon onto his mother, who had slipped away in a coma so long ago.
Hong Yu-yeon had surpassed the ten-day mark his mother never breached; she crossed a year and ten days, and then crossed another year, stubbornly holding on to every breath. Amid the deep-seated dread of seeing someone lie entirely still, the simple fact that this motionless woman was still breathing brought Hyeon-myeong a strange sense of solace.
‘She’s still alive.’
He visited her once a month. Some days he merely watched in silence; on others, he spoke to her, or shared secrets he had never told anyone else. Whenever stress accumulated from work, he would vent in weary murmurs about the things that refused to go his way. All the while, he mocked himself for acting like a creep, convincing himself that this doll-like woman could actually hear everything he said.
Over time, those monthly visits to Hong Yu-yeon became routine. He even caught himself wishing this pattern would never break. The doctors had shaken their heads, insisting there was no hope, but Hyeon-myeong thought keeping things just as they were was enough.
A woman who drew breath was, by her very existence, something to be grateful for.
It was not particularly love, but she had become his hope.
Then, one day, just when the rhythm had grown second nature, she woke from her long slumber.
The moment she woke, she spoke, grew angry, offered apologies, and brought laughter.
Every little thing about her was simply fascinating. Fascinating enough that he kept wanting to see more.
‘To me, you were just someone I was grateful to for opening your eyes. That was all it was supposed to be.’
Returning to the company, Hyeon-myeong sat through a marathon meeting with the heads of core partner firms to establish long-term partnerships, followed by dinner with them.
With work still remaining after the meal, he headed back to his office. He glanced through his rescheduled calendar to account for his attendance at tomorrow's trade expo. He combed through documents in order of priority, reading and sending feedback on the final proposal for the future logistics innovation project, before reviewing progress reports from various departments on the recent shareholders' meeting and other pending paperwork.
By eleven that night, leaving later than usual, he returned home, showered, and immediately lay down on his bed.
He reached for a bottle of whiskey, then thought better of it. He already felt intoxicated by something else.
Lying there, his thoughts turned once more to the woman who had spent all that time in a hospital bed.
As sleep hovered just out of reach, fragments of memory drifted into his mind.
It’s not your fault. Those were the words his father had spoken.
‘Is that true?’
‘Thank you for telling me that, Father.’
‘But… would Mother think so too?’
He inhaled deeply, then held his breath.
Then, exhaling slowly, he held it once more. A world without breath felt startlingly close.
And then the woman’s voice surfaced again.
His breath grew warm as it left his lips.
Too long.
Had he been alone for too long?
That tender comfort felt so foreign, so unearned, that it took time to truly settle in.
That was why he had fled her hospital room as if escaping.
Drifting in and out of fading consciousness, the voice he had heard that afternoon continued to well up like soft clouds. It was a voice bound to melt straight into his dreams.
Excluding his family, she was the first stranger who had ever spoken such words to him.
‘To me… you were just someone I was grateful to, simply for opening your eyes.’
On a sunny day, inside the office of Shin Ik-hwan, Managing Director and patent attorney at Cheongbyeol Patent Law Firm.
Do Yong-tae, having knocked and entered, offered a wide, sycophantic smile as he greeted Shin Ik-hwan.
Setting down his pen, Shin Ik-hwan tilted his head and looked up from his paperwork.
At Shin Ik-hwan’s question, the practiced expression on Do Yong-tae’s face instantly came undone.
With eyes widening behind his glasses, Do Yong-tae secretly swallowed hard.
Two years ago, while preparing to land a job as a patent attorney, Do Yong-tae had managed to secure a private meeting with Shin Ik-hwan, Managing Director of Cheongbyeol Patent Law Firm.
Over drinks, Do Yong-tae had spoken of Optimum Path as though it were his own creation, and Shin Ik-hwan had persuaded him to sell the program. Shin had promised to pay licensing fees and secure him a position at Cheongbyeol in exchange.
It was Cheongbyeol, the premier patent firm where every patent attorney in Korea dreamed of working. The temptation had been impossible to resist.
Thus, Do Yong-tae had handed over all patent rights to Optimum Path—renamed Optiroad—to Shin Ik-hwan for ten million won. In return, he secured an appointment at Cheongbyeol Patent Law Firm. Shin Ik-hwan passed the program on to Sim Pyeong-ho, an executive at TZ Construction, helping him register the patent under Sim's own name. Sim Pyeong-ho, recognized for various achievements including the deployment of Optiroad, was promoted to CEO of TZ Construction the following year.
Shin Ik-hwan pinned him with suspicious eyes as he recounted every favor Do Yong-tae had received.
A cold chill ran down Do Yong-tae’s spine. Beads of sweat began to prickle across his forehead.
At Do Yong-tae’s strained, hollow laughter, Shin Ik-hwan’s gaze grew sharper still.
Do Yong-tae had sold the program to Shin Ik-hwan for ten million won, but Shin Ik-hwan had pocketed a hundred million won from Sim Pyeong-ho. He had raked in ninety million won simply as a broker's fee for bridging the two.
Having no idea what price Shin Ik-hwan had actually fetched for the program, Do Yong-tae offered an awkward grin and brushed it off.