Min-Jun
We walk down the main corridor, a red carpet that seems to lead straight to hell.
The walls are covered with portraits of ancestors: austere faces, eyes that seem to follow us with contempt.
Seo-Yun walks ahead of us, hands in his pockets, visibly shaking. Every closed door seems to hide a threat.
"Here," he says, stopping in front of an immense carved mahogany door. "This is where he spends his days, monitoring everything, checking who lives and who dies."
I look around.
Ava is at my side, her face a mask of ice, her hand sliding to her belt to check she still has the tablet with the evidence.
Roori is a step behind her, her gaze fixed upward, as if trying to read her grandfather's intentions in the shadows of the ceiling.
"Are you ready?" Ava whispers to me. Her voice is almost a whisper, but inside there's a vibration I haven't felt in years. It's not fear. It's determination.
"I was born ready for this moment," I reply, placing my hand on hers. "Whatever happens inside, don't let his words fool you. He's not your grandfather anymore," she says, turning her head toward her sister.
Roori nods, then pushes open the door.
The room is immense, lit only by a series of plasma screens covering the entire back wall. In the center, sitting in an armchair that looks like it's from a film noir, is a man.
He doesn't look like a corpse. He doesn't look like a ghost.
He's simply old, his eyes covered by a pair of dark glasses, sipping tea, as if our intrusion were just a small disturbance in his afternoon.
His grandfather.
Kim-Jong, the patriarch who orchestrated the demise of my father and Roori's father.
"You're late," he says without turning around. His voice is a metallic rasp, imbued with an authority that shakes the walls. "But I see you've learned to work together. That's the first requirement for inheriting an empire."
He turns slowly in his chair. His face is deeply lined, but his eyes—behind dark glasses—are alert, sharp as blades.
"Everyone thought you were dead. In truth, I fervently hoped so," says Ava, taking a step forward. The floor creaks beneath her heels. "How many lives have you destroyed just to watch them burn?"
"Destruction is merely a form of selection," he replies, slowly rising. He leans on a silver-headed cane. "Those who survive the flames are worthy of ruling."
"You have not ruled," Roori shouts, stepping forward. "You have only cultivated your hatred!"
The old man laughs, a dry, joyless sound. Then, with a wave of his hand, he points behind us. "Look."
The doors to the room swing open again.
Attorney Jung enters, followed by three armed men in black. But he doesn't point his weapons at us.
He points them at Grandpa.
"The game is over, Mr. Kim," Jung says. His voice is firm, without hesitation. "The evidence has been sent. The police are already at the gate."
Grandpa doesn't blink.
He smiles.
"Jung, did you really think I didn't know about your double life? You don't work for me, you work for Tae-Hyun's ghost."
Ava snaps at Jung, her gaze confused.
"What does this mean?"
"It means," says Grandpa, looking at Ava with a hint of sick pride, "that the true legacy is not power. It's chaos. And today, you are the chaos."