The dining room at eight in the morning resembled a war room mid-campaign. Chairman Kang sat at the head of the long mahogany table, staring with deep, tragic resentment at a small bowl of unsweetened oatmeal flanked by two steamed eggs. Across from him, Min-jun was reviewing three separate tablets simultaneously, his dark suit already pristine, while Ji-ho typed out rapid code updates into his laptop beside a glass of green vegetable juice. Do-hyun, dressed in an silk robe that looked like a modern art canvas, was dramatically spreading organic avocado onto whole-grain toast. When Ji-won walked in, freshly showered in a soft charcoal turtleneck and black slacks, the room’s chaotic energy immediately shifted. "Ji-won-ah!" Do-hyun called out, patting the leather chair beside him. "Sit! Eat! I personally ensured the chef made the almond butter spread you like." Ji-won offered a quiet smile, taking his seat as a maid poured a cup of warm barley tea into his cup. "Good morning, everyone." "Son," Chairman Kang began, his booming voice lowering into a conspiratorial whisper as he leaned across the table. "As a final-year scholar navigating high-level corporate economics, do you not agree that complex cognitive function requires saturated fats? Say, two strips of crisp maple bacon?" "Sun-woo," Mrs. Kang’s voice cut through the air like a silver bell. She entered from the terrace, looking radiant in a cream-colored wool dress, her posture perfectly erect. She took her seat at the foot of the table, setting her teacup down with a quiet *clink*. "If you mention pork products one more time before eight-thirty, I will have the driver take you directly to the cardiology clinic in Gangnam for an unannounced screening." Chairman Kang instantly picked up his spoon and took a solemn, defeated bite of lukewarm oatmeal. "I am merely advocating for balanced nutritional science, my dear." Min-jun didn't look up from his screen, his thumb scrolling through a security manifest. "Regarding the upcoming academic week, Ji-won. I have revised your transit protocol. Given the recent perimeter sensor diagnostic glitch in the north wing, I am assigning two additional armored escorts to your campus detail." Ji-won paused, his teacup halfway to his lips. "Min-jun Hyung, two extra cars? The campus parking authority already gave the driver a warning about blocking the faculty lane last Tuesday." "Statistically speaking," Ji-ho chimed in, adjusting his glasses, "a three-vehicle motorcade increases passive deterrence by forty-seven percent, but creates an eighty-two percent probability of drawing unwanted civilian attention on university grounds." "Which is precisely why I am vetoing the motorcade," Mrs. Kang stated calmly, buttering a small piece of whole-wheat toast with practiced grace. The entire table fell silent. Min-jun’s thumb froze on his tablet screen. "Mother," Min-jun said, his voice dropping into his formal executive register. "The security environment in Seoul remains volatile. The Lu family’s recent market movements near our shipping subsidiaries require maximum vigilance." "Your vigilance is smothering your brother, Min-jun," Mrs. Kang replied, her dark eyes locking onto her eldest son with an unyielding, quiet power. "Ji-won is a twenty-two-year-old man completing his final undergraduate year. He is not a package of bearer bonds to be moved in an armored convoy." Do-hyun held up his toast like a shield. "I agree with Mother! Ji-won looked so stressed when he walked out of his law seminar yesterday. He needs room to breathe! Maybe I should join his economics class as an auditing student?" "Absolute non-starter," Ji-ho said instantly. "Your presence would drop the lecture hall's productivity index to zero." "I am a guest lecturer candidate!" Do-hyun protested dramatically. Ji-won looked around the table, watching the quiet chess match unfolding between his mother and his brothers. In his past life, he would have shrank into his seat, terrified of causing friction, letting others dictate every second of his existence. But looking at his mother’s steady, encouraging nod from the end of the table, Ji-won felt a quiet surge of confidence anchor his voice. "Hyung," Ji-won said, setting his cup down and looking directly at Min-jun. Min-jun turned his full attention to his youngest brother, his sharp features softening slightly. "Yes, Ji-won-ah?" "I appreciate you wanting to protect me," Ji-won said, his voice soft, steady, and clear. "I know how hard you work to keep this family safe. But I don't want three cars. I want one driver, the normal security clearance, and the ability to walk across campus without feeling like a prisoner." Min-jun stared at Ji-won. For a long moment, the dining room was completely quiet, save for the gentle ticking of the grandfather clock near the window. Min-jun looked at Ji-won’s calm, resolute eyes—not the eyes of a fragile, traumatized boy, but a young man who knew his own mind. Slowly, Min-jun leaned back in his chair, setting his tablet face-down on the table. "...One driver," Min-jun conceded, his tone heavy with reluctant respect. "And one discreet security guard stationed near the faculty building exit. No motorcades." Do-hyun gasped. "Did Ji-won just win an argument against President Kang Min-jun?! Is someone writing this down in the family archives?!" Chairman Kang let out a deep, chesty laugh, looking at his youngest son with immense pride. "Well spoken, Ji-won-ah! A true Kang knows when to assert authority over the board!" "Eat your oats, Sun-woo," Mrs. Kang murmured smoothly, a tiny, brilliant smile gracing her lips as she caught Ji-won’s eye across the table. Ji-won picked up his fork, a warm, bright feeling blooming in his chest. He took a bite of his breakfast, listening to Do-hyun and Ji-ho argue about academic statistics while his phone vibrated in his pocket with a silly good-morning text from Leo in California. He was holding his own ground at the family table. He was painting his own canvas in the sunroom. And wherever Lu Sheng was in the vast, shining towers of Seoul, Ji-won knew that the next move in their quiet, dangerous dance would be made entirely on his own terms.

Chapter 31