Reaching the safety of the third floor, Ji-won didn't just walk into his bedroom; he practically threw himself through the doorway, slammed the heavy oak door shut, locked it three times, and threw the bolt for good measure. He slid down the smooth wooden panel, collapsing onto the plush carpet in a heap of shivering, tear-soaked panic. "I'm dead. I'm literally dead. This is it. This is how I die a second time," Ji-won sobbed quietly into his knees, pulling at his hair in absolute, unadulterated hysteria. In his past life, he had died of starvation and exhaustion in a dark apartment. In this life, he was going to die because he had accidentally quoted a French corporate pirate idiom at his linguistics-nerd brother over steamed snow crab! "Why French?!" Ji-won whined out loud to the empty room, slamming his forehead lightly against his knees. "Of all the filthy, corrupt things Lu Sheng whispered to me, why did my brain have to memorize the French privateer slang?!" His life was an absolute, tragicomic trainwreck. On one hand, he had an obsessive, billionaire sociopath who treated him like a piece of personal property and left custom-engraved pens hidden in his oil paint. On the other hand, he had three overprotective, hyper-intelligent brothers who possessed, respectively: A private military-grade security firm (Min-jun). An endless supply of medical-grade panic and smothering affection (Do-hyun). An encyclopedic knowledge of obscure global idioms used specifically by corporate villains (Ji-ho). Ji-won was completely, utterly doomed. BZZZ. Ji-won flinched violently, his head snapping up. The phone in his pocket vibrated against his thigh. With shaking, hesitant fingers, Ji-won pulled out the device. He stared at the screen, fully expecting another sinister, controlling text from Lu Sheng demanding his presence at midnight. Instead, a notification popped up from his Cowrywise micro-investing mobile app: [Cowrywise Alert]: Congratulations, Ji-won! Your automated daily savings plan deposited ₩5,000 into your 'Emergency Independence Fund'! Total Balance: ₩142,500 ($105 USD). Keep saving to reach your dream of buying a private studio apartment! Ji-won stared at the screen for five straight seconds, a hysterical, breathless laugh escaping his lips. 105 dollars. He had a grand total of one hundred and five dollars saved up to run away from a multi-billion-dollar corporate blood feud. He couldn't even afford a bus ticket out of the province, let alone escape the combined surveillance networks of the Kang and Lu empires. "Great," Ji-won muttered sarcastically, wiping a tear from his cheek. "If Min-jun disowns me, I can buy exactly three nights at a sketchy motel and a tub of instant ramen. Splendid financial planning, Ji-won." BZZZ. A second notification flashed onto the glass. This time, it was the black-listed, encrypted application. [Lu Sheng]: Your eldest brother just increased the armed guard detail around your estate perimeter by twenty men. It seems my little angel made a mistake at the dinner table tonight. Ji-won’s heart leaped back into his throat. He frantically typed back with trembling thumbs. [Ji-won]: It’s your fault! I accidentally used that stupid French phrase you taught me! Ji-ho knows! He figured out it came from you! They’re going to kill me! Across the city, sitting in his dimly lit, lavish penthouse, Lu Sheng read the frantic reply. Instead of being annoyed, the ruthless billionaire leaned back in his leather chair and let out a genuine, booming laugh that echoed off the high glass walls. The mental image of his sweet, innocent little angel panicking over a linguistics lesson was ridiculously, absurdly endearing. [Lu Sheng]: L’étreinte du serpent? You used my phrase in front of your family? How bold of you, sweet boy. Are you trying to mark yourself as mine in front of them? [Ji-won]: THIS IS NOT FUNNY! Min-jun is probably printing out my execution order right now! You have to stop contacting me! You're going to get me locked in a tower! [Lu Sheng]: If they lock you in a tower, little angel, I’ll simply burn the tower down and carry you away. Pack a small bag for tomorrow night. The game of hiding in your studio is officially over. Ji-won dropped the phone onto the carpet as if it had caught fire. He stared at the ceiling, letting out a long, dramatic groan of complete despair. He was trapped between three brothers who treated him like a fragile glass vase and a demon who treated him like a stolen prize. Suddenly, a quiet, deliberate knock sounded on his bedroom door. "Ji-won-ah?" It was Min-jun’s voice. But it wasn't the furious, interrogative tone from the studio earlier. It was smooth, dark, and chillingly polite. "Open the door, sweetie," Min-jun said softly through the thick wood. "Ji-ho just told me about your interesting new vocabulary. I brought up a fresh cup of tea... so we can have a nice, long chat about your economics tutor." Ji-won squeezed his eyes shut, grabbing a plush decorative pillow from his bed and burying his face in it to muffle his scream of absolute horror. Ji-won remained frozen on the plush carpet, the silk decorative pillow clamped over his face as he waited for the sound of the heavy brass doorknob turning. Every nerve ending in his body was screaming. In his hand, his smartphone was still glowing with Lu Sheng’s terrifying message—a digital paper trail that, if found, would lead directly to his immediate execution or, at the very least, a lifetime sentence in a velvet-lined padded room. He needed to hide the phone. He needed to throw it out the window. He needed to swallow it whole like a pill. Before Min-jun could slide the master key into the keyhole, a sharp set of quick, aggressive footsteps echoed down the hardwood corridor, followed by the muffled *thump* of a heavy textbook hitting a tray. "Min-jun, put the key down! You are behaving like an unhinged warlord!" It was Ji-ho. The quiet, analytical linguistics scholar had apparently sprinted up three flights of stairs, his wire-rimmed glasses slightly askew, his cream cardigan flapping wildly behind him. "I am acting as the head of this household," Min-jun’s deep, booming baritone replied through the thick oak door, calm yet laced with lethal authority. "Our brother just quoted a predatory corporate psychopath verbatim over seafood soup. This is no longer a matter of academic curiosity, Ji-ho. It is an active security breach." "It was a linguistic anomaly!" Ji-ho argued loudly, his voice cracking slightly with rare academic rage. "I brought it up to discuss the sociolinguistic influence of media on young minds, not so you could stage a military coup outside his bedroom door!" "A linguistic anomaly?!" Do-hyun’s furious voice joined the fray, breathless from racing up the stairs right behind Ji-ho. "Are you two completely insane?! You frightened him so badly he spilled his water, ruined his clothes, and ran upstairs crying without touching his snow crab! He’s probably in there having an anxiety attack!" Inside the bedroom, Ji-won frantically scrambled off the floor on his hands and knees, clutching his phone to his chest. *Thank you, Do-hyun Hyung! Keep yelling!* "He is not having an anxiety attack; he is hiding something!" Min-jun retorted, his tone rising an octave—a monumental event for a man who usually spoke in cold, calculated whispers. "He buttoned his collar to his chin! He bought five thousand dollars' worth of oil paint he doesn't know how to use! And now he’s speaking fluent French privateer slang! Do you think that’s a coincidence?!" "He bought the art supplies because he is an artistic soul!" Do-hyun shouted back, the distinct sound of him physically slapping Min-jun’s hand away from the doorknob echoing through the wood. "He is sensitive! He is delicate! Unlike you, who thinks every problem can be solved with a hostile takeover and a perimeter team!" "I am protecting him!" "You are smothering him!" Ji-ho interjected, his voice trembling with scholarly indignation. "Do you know the psychological impact of aggressive interrogation on a late-stage adolescent developmental arc? You are going to give him a complex! He will move to France and never speak to us again!" "Why France?!" Do-hyun shrieked. "He’s not going to France! He gets homesick if we go to Jeju Island for more than four days!" Ji-won didn't waste a single second of the glorious, chaotic distraction unfolding outside his door. He scrambled toward his carved mahogany nightstand, yanked the top drawer open, and shoved the phone beneath three thick books on spatial magic theory and a half-knitted woolen singlet top he had abandoned weeks ago. *No, too obvious. Min-jun inspects the drawers.* Panicking, Ji-won pulled the phone back out and scanned the room wildly. His eyes landed on the grand, silk-curtained canopy bed. He scrambled across the mattress, reached up, and shoved the encrypted phone high into the decorative wooden crown molding of the bed frame, wedging it firmly behind a carved velvet drape where no human eye could ever spot it without a stepladder. He smoothed down his clothes, patted his flushed cheeks, and ran a hand through his messy hair. He dragged a deep, ragged breath into his lungs, trying desperately to lower his pulse from three hundred beats per minute down to something resembling a normal, innocent human heart rate. Outside, the argument had descended into pure, unadulterated madness. "I am opening this door!" Min-jun declared. "If you turn that key, Min-jun, I am calling Dad in London right now and telling him you revoked the staff's paid leave!" Do-hyun threatened, the sound of a phone being aggressively tapped filling the hall. "And I am telling Mom you made Ji-won cry!" A heavy, deathly silence fell over the corridor. Threatening to call their mother was the nuclear option in the Kang family hierarchy. Elena Kang’s fury regarding her youngest son’s emotional well-being was a force of nature that even the board of directors at Kang Shipping feared. "You wouldn't," Min-jun whispered, his voice actually trembling slightly with genuine terror. "Try me," Do-hyun growled. "I already have her speed dial open." "Gentlemen, please," Ji-ho tried to mediate, his breath still ragged. "Let us analyze this rationally. If we simply construct a comparative frequency matrix of Ji-won's vocabulary over the last three months, we can deduce the probability of external influence without causing emotional trauma..." "Shut up, Ji-ho!" Min-jun and Do-hyun shouted in unison. Ji-won took one last deep breath, forced his shoulders to relax, and carefully unlocked the triple-bolt lock with three loud, deliberate clicks. He pulled the heavy oak door open, stepping onto the threshold with the wide, glossy-eyed, utterly heartbreaking expression of a kicked puppy. The three towering, powerful men frozen in the hallway instantly snapped their heads toward him. Min-jun was holding a master key, looking as if he were about to breach an enemy bunker. Do-hyun had his phone raised like a loaded weapon, his face red. Ji-ho was clutching an thousand-page etymology dictionary to his chest like a wooden shield. "Hyungs...?" Ji-won murmured softly, his voice trembling with a masterclass in feigned fragility. He looked between them, biting his lower lip as a single, glossy tear welled up in his eye. "Why are you all shouting? Did... did I do something wrong?" The effect was instantaneous and absolute. Min-jun’s stone-cold corporate authority vanished, replaced by an expression of sheer, crushing guilt. He immediately shoved the master key deep into his pocket. Do-hyun dropped his phone onto the runner rug with a soft clatter, his eyes wide with horrified regret. Ji-ho let out a squeak of shame, lowering his massive dictionary. "Ji-won-ah!" Do-hyun gasped, stepping forward and shoving both Min-jun and Ji-ho out of the way to gather Ji-won into a tight, suffocating hug. "No, sweetie! No, you didn't do anything wrong! Min-jun is just stupid!" "I am not—" Min-jun started, but stopped himself, letting out a heavy, defeated sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He stepped closer, his dark eyes softening completely as he reached out to smooth down Ji-won's messy hair. "I'm sorry, Ji-won-ah. I didn't mean to frighten you. I was... overly concerned." "I just... I read that French phrase in a business article on my tablet last week," Ji-won lied softly against Do-hyun's shoulder, his voice muffled and docile. "I thought it sounded smart. I didn't know it was bad." Ji-ho let out a triumphant gasp, pointing an accusatory finger at Min-jun. "A digital business article! Exactly as I hypothesized! A surface-level semantic assimilation! You owe our little brother an apology!" Min-jun looked at Ji-won, the last remaining embers of his suspicion melting under the overwhelming weight of brotherly guilt. "I apologize, little brother. I shouldn't have questioned you like that." He paused, his gaze lingering on Ji-won's high collar for a second longer before he forced a warm smile. "Go get some rest. I'll have the kitchen bring up a fresh bowl of soup." "Thank you, Hyung," Ji-won whispered, letting Do-hyun usher him back into the room. As the three brothers finally retreated down the hallway—Do-hyun still aggressively lecturing Min-jun on emotional intelligence—Ji-won closed the door and locked it once more. He backed away, leaning against the panel as a hysterical, breathless chuckle escaped his lips. He had survived the interrogation. The phone was safe. His brothers were pacified for the night. But as Ji-won looked up toward the top of his canopy bed, where the hidden phone lay wedged in the dark velvet trim, he remembered Lu Sheng’s final text message. *‘Pack a small bag for tomorrow night. The game of hiding in your studio is officially over.’* Ji-won’s smile vanished. The relief drained from his chest, leaving behind the cold, heavy realization that tomorrow, the demon would come to collect his debt—and no amount of brotherly arguments or wide-eyed lies would be able to stop him.

Chapter 11: The Comedy of Absolute Desperation