Trousers hugging his frame with just the right amount of tension, a crisp white shirt, a solid silk tie, hair combed back neatly, and the faint scent of aftershave mingling with his natural scent. He looked high-end enough not to be taken lightly, yet subtle enough not to draw unnecessary attention. The moment he double-checked his appearance and took a step back from the full-length mirror, a voice called out to him from beyond the door.

　　“Breakfast is ready, young master.”

　　“Okay.”

　　Jeong Soohyun stepped out of the dressing room without hesitation. The aide waiting in the hallway took his jacket and fell in behind him. From behind came a low voice reciting today’s weather, traffic conditions, and schedule. Checking the weather first thing upon waking was a habit of his, and he kept up with his calendar app regularly anyway, but Soohyun let the man continue. After all, that was the job of a man who had served him for nearly ten years.

　　When he had entered a high school far from home and was assigned his first driver-secretary, his grandfather had drilled a rule into him: Show proper trust to those you employ, but extract even greater trust from them. And never become friends. Back then, Soohyun had laughed it off as overly stiff advice, but in the end, that was how things had turned out. However twisted he might feel inside, Jeong Soohyun was a textbook creature of routine with no intention of straying off course.

　　As he went downstairs, faint sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling living room windows. It was early November, so the view of the garden was growing desolate. Though the old mansion gifted to him by his grandfather had undergone extensive interior renovations before he moved in, the garden’s elegantly manicured landscape remained exactly as it had been during his childhood.

　　The breakfast prepared by the worker who arrived early that morning was a light Korean meal, and Soohyun ate his usual portion at a measured pace. After eating, he washed down his daily supplements with water, moved to the living room, and sat on the sofa sipping tea before standing up at around seven forty. Down in the basement garage, his aide had gone ahead to start the car.

　　Once the car pulled away and Soohyun retrieved his tablet from his briefcase, not a word passed between them until they reached their destination. Out of habit, he quickly skimmed through press releases. To him, news was not casual general knowledge, but a vital part of making his living—a non-negotiable ritual of preparation. Watching Soohyun’s face in the rearview mirror, his executive secretary, thirty-four-year-old Park Sungjin, thought that in about five years, he would be seeing this young man on the front pages of major business publications.

　　“We’ve arrived.”

　　“Thank you.”

　　Slipping the tablet back into his bag and adjusting his clothes, Soohyun opened the door himself and stepped out. He was a short distance from the main entrance of the corporate building. He walked along the neatly paved sidewalk, went in through the main doors, tapped his employee ID, stepped into the elevator, and exchanged occasional greetings.

He was the picture of a model new hire—or rather, an assistant manager in the Management Support Team who had skipped the entry-level tier entirely, and an owner-family heir destined to become the youngest executive in company history. Jeong Soohyun was the spitting image of his grandfather in his youth, the man who had ruled the kingdom longer than anyone except the founder, his great-grandfather.

　　With his father—who had dutifully taken over the family business as the eldest son—now gone, Soohyun would eventually have to compete with his cousins for the top spot, but he wasn’t particularly bothered by the rivalry. Outsiders might find it hard to believe, but his family actually got along quite well. Besides, Soohyun had been lucky his entire life, and above all, he had a grandfather who saw his late son in him.

　　Passing over his older cousins to gift Soohyun that historic mansion when he finished his studies and joined the company early this year painted a clear enough picture. All that remained was to work hard, learn the ropes, and move up the ladder step by step. He couldn’t afford to ruin such a bright future through incompetence.

　　“Hello, good morning.”

　　“Good morning.”

　　“Morning.”

　　The moment he exchanged the routine greetings and sat at his desk, his phone buzzed briefly. It was a good-morning text from a woman he had recently met on a date. I didn’t think she was the type to send things like this.

　　He sent a brief reply and booted up his laptop. Across his smooth, serene composure, a flicker of irritation brushed past. It wasn’t that he held anything against the woman.

　　When he had asked his aunt to look into matchmaking options, he hadn’t hesitated. Marriage was an obligation he bore as a member of the family, the main decision lay entirely in his hands, and since he would be selecting from recommended candidates anyway, there was no reason for conflict.

　　Since last month, Soohyun had reviewed photos and profiles of several women and gone on a few dates. The fact that it had taken “a few” was already unexpected in itself. He had intended to choose the most suitable candidate and proceed without delay as long as there were no major red flags and their mutual interests aligned.

　　For the first time in a very long while, he found himself facing an unexpected hurdle.

　　Time wasn’t pressing, and everyone around him had advised him to take his time, but he had assumed he would move swiftly without any trial and error—just as he had accomplished almost everything else he had set his mind to.

　　Soohyun’s unexpected hurdle was desire.

　　If Jeong Wonil, who had once worried so seriously about Soohyun’s sex life, were to hear this, he would lose his mind.

　　Yet there was no denying it. Standing before women who possessed solid backgrounds as well as enviable beauty and intelligence, what eroded his resolve was the disappointment of feeling no sexual attraction whatsoever.

　　Carnal desire—how absurd. Measuring something like that when choosing a spouse. Where in such a calculating, practical arrangement was there any room for lust? Even so, he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it. He hadn’t expected some profound spark, yet disappointment and disillusionment lingered in the back of his mind.

　　Just as Soohyun had always accomplished whatever he set out to do, he had never bent his will to accept something he didn’t want. He called off the talks without dragging them out, and similar scenarios repeated a few more times. He had even engaged in physical intimacy a few times—crossing his own boundaries short of actual penetration—but far from getting used to it, his discomfort only grew deeper.

　　Had he suddenly developed specific tastes?

　　After maintaining such strict fastidiousness and resolving to apply it methodically where appropriate, was he now trying to indulge his personal whims? It wasn’t as if he were going through late puberty, but it was strange nonetheless.

　　At any rate, once he wrapped this up, he thought he would pause for a while. He wasn’t pressed for time anyway. He planned to spend two years gaining entry-level field experience before studying abroad the year after next, so he only needed to settle down before then and travel together. The woman could spend her days abroad raising their child if she felt lonely.

　　Once his plans took shape, his lingering irritation subsided, and he felt ready to focus on work. As he pressed the power button and waited for his computer to boot, his phone rang again. The caller ID displayed Jeong Wonil. Seeing it ring three or four times in a row, Wonil was probably calling to complain about his grueling research or nag him to hang out. In short, it was something that could wait until lunch or after work.

　　Soohyun flipped the phone over and looked up. The expression on his face had already shifted into that of a modest new employee, eager and hardworking.

　　Just before transitioning to the login screen, the dark monitor caught a brief reflection of clouds drifting across the window outside before fading away.

* * *

　　Meanwhile, Inwoo was jotting down new resolutions.

　　Once again, his life had reached a major turning point. The landscape of his life had shifted when he lost his dad and was left alone, and again when he walked out of his relatives’ house to make it on his own. But this time was different from those helpless disasters. He was choosing to welcome a tiny, breathing new life into his family—not a houseplant, but a living child.

　　At times, his heart fluttered with a mix of fear and anticipation, his limited imagination running wild. The challenges he would have to face, what he stood to gain and lose, unexpected risks he had never imagined, and things he would inexplicably regain—things he had assumed were lost forever…

　　In all his life, he had never protected anything. Setting aside age and roles, Inwoo had realized only after becoming an orphan that his father was the one person he should have protected. Now that a tiny, fragile life had settled inside him, he truly needed to step up and become an adult.

　　After leaving the OB-GYN clinic that day, Inwoo headed straight to the columbarium where his dad was laid to rest. Since Inwoo had neither the flair nor the money to decorate the display niche, all it held was a single photo of the two of them. Every time he stood before it, Inwoo felt a brief pang of regret. He wished he hadn’t burned that man’s photo and had placed it here instead. Not so the man could see it and come looking for them, nor out of any hope for a dramatic miracle, but because that man had made up as much of his father’s life as Inwoo had, and leaving at least one trace of him felt only right.

　　But that was in the past. Though his dad had mostly avoided discussing the early childhood Inwoo couldn’t recall, Inwoo knew he had been alone with his father from the very beginning. That hadn’t been the man’s fault, nor had it been intentional. There must have been unavoidable circumstances.

　　The way his father yearned for him was pure longing, untainted by regret or resentment. A love his father claimed never to regret up to the moment he died—Inwoo had been born from that love. And though half-formed, the soft, white cloud resting here was born of it, too…

　　…Dad.

　　My missed family.

　　It’s been a while. Are you still busy traveling around? Is there really that much to see? …When are you going to visit my dreams?

　　I have something to show you now, so visit often.

　　He added the thought lightheartedly, then flushed at his own silly sentiment. He quietly mumbled on.

　　Uh… I don’t have to go to college to work for the government.

　　I’m… planning to study for the civil service exam. …But before that…

　　He rested a hand on his stomach, which rumbled persistently.

　　They said there’s something in here. A baby.

　　He paused, taking a breath.

　　I want to keep this baby.

　　He hesitated for a moment.

　　I’m going to have it, Dad.

　　Finally, closing his eyes, he spoke the words he wanted to say most.

　　Please protect us, Dad…

　　Even though he had done nothing for his dad and had only ever received, here he was, asking for favors again. But his dad was all he had to rely on. The only person he could tell this to. The only person who would cheer them on.

　　After sitting hunched over his desk for a long time, Inwoo finally straightened up. He raised the notebook to eye level and solemnly read aloud the finished blend of scribbles, diary entries, and life plans. His hand moved down of its own accord, gently tickling his belly, which felt slightly rounded, whether that was just his imagination or not.

　　“Let’s do our best, little baby friend.”

　　I’ll protect you.

　　Inwoo believed that the name for this long promise he had written down was none other than love.

* * *

　　Jeong Wonil, a full-time researcher at the Rare Trait Research Center, spent his days anxiously longing for the weekend, never knowing when it might be stolen from him (though he denied it, in reality it was taken almost every week).

　　His workplace was situated right between one of the top universities in the country and its affiliated hospital. He ate lunch in the hospital cafeteria and took walks through the campus grounds. Of course, he didn’t consistently get to eat lunch or take a walk every day. He simply lived a life of rolling with whatever came his way.

　　Wonil’s daily routine was filled with running clinical trials, analyzing data, plotting graphs, and wrestling with research papers. At first, the staff at the center had ostracized him as a chaebol exile brought in through backroom connections (which was closer to the truth than a misconception), but seeing him fumble through his tasks with honest effort, they soon warmed up to him.

It was hard to guess what kind of position his father, President Jeong Hyunil of Mulsan, was grooming him for by forcing him through such grueling hands-on training. Inside the center, specialists, interns, graduate students, professors from STEM, statistics, and business, and staff were comrades, ground down side by side.

　　After just one season at the center, Wonil gave up agonizing over whether this work truly suited his talents or if it was what he genuinely wanted to study. Once he stopped thinking about it, what piled up in his chest wasn’t deep existential angst, but a simple, primitive desire for stress relief. He couldn’t confess such thoughts to his father, nor to his much older brothers. And, of course, there was no sweet, patient woman in his life who would shower love on a researcher whose time and body weren’t even his own.