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“Let go! This—!”
“What do you think this place is? How dare you barge in like this!”
A commotion broke out in the first-floor lobby, prompting Joo-Hyuk to hurry down with Secretary Park.
The security guards and a few employees were physically restraining Reporter Seo.
“What’s going on here?”
“Ah, President Choi! Please don’t worry about it. We’ll send him away.”
As one of the guards tried to turn Reporter Seo around, he struggled fiercely and answered through gritted teeth.
“President Choi! I need to talk to you!”
Upon spotting Joo-Hyuk, Reporter Seo redoubled his efforts, thrashing wildly.
“Let him go. Let’s hear what he has to say.”
“President?”
“It’s fine.”
At Joo-Hyuk’s command, the employees loosened their grip. Reporter Seo twisted his body free, brushed off his crumpled clothes, and took a step closer to Joo-Hyuk, his face flushed red.
“I came here to speak with you.”
“Let’s talk here.”
Joo-Hyuk leaned slightly against the card scanner machine, arms crossed, and stared at Reporter Seo. The man reeked of alcohol, as if he’d stopped for a drink on the way.
“Do you know where I just came from?”
“A bar?”
“No—well, I had a drink on the way, but that’s not the point.”
Then where did you come from, and why are you causing trouble here?
Joo-Hyuk frowned, silently asking with his expression.
“I was called to the Broadcast Journalists Association and just returned.”
Ah, so that day was today.
A few days ago, Joo-Hyuk had received a call about establishing internal regulations within the journalist community since there were no laws to prevent malicious reporting. They had asked him to testify, using Reporter Seo as the first example.
“You’re the one who spread lies about me, aren’t you?”
Reporter Seo glared and raised his voice.
“Right? Answer me, quickly!”
“It’s true they asked me to testify about you, but I didn’t go.”
“What?”
“Anyway, I’m not the only one who suffered because of your articles.”
“No, that’s not true! You, Choi Joo-Hyuk, are the only one—!”
“If you’re the kind of reporter who fabricates stories chasing scoops, you should’ve expected something like this to happen eventually.”
Stunned by Joo-Hyuk’s cold words, Reporter Seo stared blankly at him.
“Or were you so arrogant that you thought nothing like this could ever happen to you?”
“W-What about freedom of the press? Freedom of the press exists for a reason!”
“The press exists to report facts, not to fabricate lies or sensationalize events. That’s not journalism!”
All the anger Joo-Hyuk had suppressed until now erupted.
How dare this scum call himself a journalist, misleading the public under the guise of reporting? The thought made his blood boil.
“Besides, even if the association’s internal rules lack legal power, it’s not like they’ll completely ban you from being a journalist.”
“Over 90 percent of broadcasters belong to the association. Do you think this is insignificant?”
“We can’t predict whether the remaining 10 percent will hire you, and it’s clearly not insignificant. But isn’t this something you anticipated?”
“…Tsk.”
Reporter Seo clenched his fists tightly and ground his teeth. His bloodshot eyes filled with rage once more.
“Don’t think this is over! I’ll expose your hypocrisy to the world someday!”
Joo-Hyuk straightened up from his leaning position and approached Reporter Seo.
The guards moved forward with worried expressions, but Joo-Hyuk waved them off.
Stopping right in front of Reporter Seo, Joo-Hyuk leaned in slightly and brought his face close to Seo’s left ear.
“I’m not afraid of liars like you. Go ahead and try whenever you want.”
After whispering, Joo-Hyuk lifted his head and smiled—one of the kindest smiles he’d ever worn.
“You… you…!”
“I was considering dropping the defamation lawsuit if you apologized, but now it seems unnecessary. You should leave.”
“Choi Joo-Hyuk, I won’t let you get away with this—”
“Escort him out of KMS.”
Joo-Hyuk’s final words were directed not at Reporter Seo but at the guards.
Following his order, the guards and employees dragged Seo out of KMS. Someone must have reported the disturbance, as the police arrived just in time to load him into a patrol car.
Once he was gone, the employees who had witnessed the scene looked at Joo-Hyuk with admiration and respect. There was pride in how he had protected the company from such filth.
“I hope this incident doesn’t reach the news director.”
“Do you think that’s possible?”
Secretary Park shook his head skeptically.
“No, it’s unlikely.”
“It’d be fortunate if the news director hasn’t already heard about it.”
Eun-Yoo would clap her hands in delight upon hearing the news, but Joo-Hyuk could already anticipate the ensuing lecture.
She’d surely criticize him for not attending the association meeting, which could’ve helped with the lawsuit.
Still, it was reassuring that Reporter Seo had shown up himself to further demonstrate his incompetence.
---
Not long after returning from their trip, the verdict for Chairman Choi’s first trial came in: two years in prison, suspended for three, and hundreds of billions in fines—a predictably light sentence.
Though many people had lost interest in following the trial due to the passage of time, the news still drew disappointment when it was reported.
It was widely known that Chairman Choi’s lenient sentence was due to the investigation failing to delve into political involvement or collusion.
The Prosecutor General resigned amid backlash, and the lawmakers who had recommended him faced heavy criticism. Rumors circulated that they had ousted the former prosecutor general through corruption and pressured the president to appoint the current one.
Just before the trial results were announced, Chairman Choi officially stepped down as chairman of NextOne, handing the position over to Joo-Ho.
Joo-Ho declared that NextOne would no longer be passed down among family members. He appointed a professional manager as CEO and restructured the management system so that no single chairman could make unilateral decisions. He also earned praise by releasing some of his shares to the market, reducing his influence.
“An old man in the back room.” That’s how Chairman Choi described his current situation. Though his tone was full of complaints, he had planned for retirement, so he didn’t have much to grumble about.
The lawyer closed his briefcase with a click and stood up.
“Then I’ll proceed to amend Chairman Choi’s will accordingly.”
“Alright.”
“I’ll take my leave now.”
Chairman Choi waved off the bowing lawyer.
After the lawyer left, the four people gathered in the study fell into silence. The sound of ice cubes clinking against the glass as they melted felt almost crisp in the quiet room.
“If everything’s settled, I’ll head out too.”
Joo-Hyuk stood up, his face weary.
“Not even a word of thanks?”
“Father.”
Joo-Ho gently intervened, trying to stop Chairman Choi’s sharp tone.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be thankful for. Was it leaving me shares of NextOne before you pass? Or allowing me to bury Mother’s ashes next to you?”
“Isn’t any of that worth gratitude? Even someone like you should be grateful that I still consider you my son and look after you.”
“That kind of money—”
Joo-Hyuk bit back the harsh words he was about to say. He glanced at Joo-Chan, who subtly shook his head, silently urging him not to continue.
“He has symptoms of dementia.”
The memory of his older brother pulling him aside into a room when they first arrived at their family home came rushing back.
“Dementia?”
“Despite pretending to be fine, the stress from the trial must have taken a toll on him.”
“Ah…”
“Anyway, don’t confront Father so directly. Just let his words go in one ear and out the other.”
“Does Father know? That he has dementia…?”
“Yes.”
That meant their father had personally visited a doctor.
Dementia.
He had heard stories from their aunt about how their grandfather had suffered from dementia before passing away, but he never imagined his own father would develop it.
“Why? What were you about to say earlier?”
“…It’s nothing.”
“You ungrateful brat. What do you think you’re becoming, acting like that? Tsk, tsk, tsk.”
Chairman Choi shook his head and clicked his tongue in disapproval.
What do you think you’re becoming?
These were the exact words Joo-Hyuk had heard repeatedly from Chairman Choi during high school, all the way up until before he founded KMS.
Since founding KMS, however, this phrase had never once left Chairman Choi’s lips—until now.
“What are you talking about, Father? He’s doing great as the CEO of KMS Broadcasting. Why bring this up?”
“Huh? Oh, right, that’s true.”
Chairman Choi awkwardly responded to Joo-Ho’s gentle correction.
It seemed he had briefly lost touch with the present moment before quickly snapping back.
“Everyone, go rest. I’m tired.”
At his words, the three sons slowly exited the study.
For a moment, Joo-Hyuk lingered outside the study, lost in thought. His brothers, who were heading toward the living room, turned back and gestured for him to join them.
“Don’t dwell on it too much. It’s still early, and he’s started treatment and medication to slow it down.”
“…Okay.”
“Are you heading straight home?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Joo-Chan and I are going to grab a drink. Want to join us?”
Joo-Hyuk nodded. He couldn’t recall a single time when the three brothers had shared drinks together.
“Alright, just wait a moment. Let me call your sister-in-law.”
“Sure.”
As Joo-Ho turned away, Joo-Hyuk pulled out his phone and called Sena.
When he told her that the three brothers were going out for drinks, she said she understood and mentioned she’d visit her aunt’s house.
On the way home, he wondered how she would react when he told her about their father’s dementia.
Would she understand the emotions swirling inside him?
The air conditioning felt unusually cold.
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