Munjeong - Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Silently observing their conversation, he asked Mrs. Kwon.

“Where is Mrs. Ahn?”

“Oh, she’s in the laundry room at the moment. She’ll be back soon. I’ll make sure to properly explain the situation about Chaeon.”

Noticing a horizontal scratch left by a fingernail on her swollen cheek, he glanced at it briefly before adding.

“Let her know to send someone to make sure there’s no scarring.”

“Yes, young master. Chaeon, what are you doing? You should thank him.”

At Mrs. Kwon’s urging, Chaeon lifted her gaze. Contrary to her expectation, Chaeon didn’t seem to feel any gratitude toward him. Her expression was as indifferent as always, but if one were to interpret the unspoken words in that face… perhaps something like:

“He’s the one who forced someone who refused from the start to play along, so why should I be thankful?”

That was the impression. Curious to hear what she would say with that face, he stared at her intently as her neatly closed lips finally parted.

“Thank you. But it’s okay, you don’t need to send anyone.”

Taeha nearly laughed at the response that didn’t betray his expectations. It was clear as day that she was holding back her irritation, hiding the sentiment, “This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t started it.”

“My goodness, this child…”

As Taeha smirked while looking down at her indifferently, Chaeon, who had been trying hard to maintain a calm demeanor with her fists clenched tightly, continued speaking.

“It’s just that with a little ointment, it should heal quickly.”

“You’re thankful, but…”

“…”

“You’re saying not to bother further, is that it?”

He asked mockingly, and her gaze dropped forlornly beneath her heavy eyelids.

“No, I truly appreciate your concern.”

Before her words were even finished, a light scoff escaped him again. In the strange atmosphere, Mrs. Kwon, caught in the middle, remained silent, unsure of what to say as she glanced between the two. Taeha, still staring at Chaeon as if dissatisfied, didn’t say anything further and turned to leave.

“…”

The moment his gaze left her, Chaeon felt as if her strength was drained entirely. Just looking at that man, even for a brief moment, always made her feel this way—uncomfortable, tense, constantly on edge. It was as if every fine hair on her skin stood on end, sharp and bristling.

Letting out a small sigh, Chaeon turned to Mrs. Kwon, who still looked bewildered and concerned, and forced a smile.

“Mrs. Kwon, I’ll head to my room now. Thank you for worrying about me.”

“Oh, alright…”

Though Mrs. Kwon’s face reflected her pity for Chaeon, who had done nothing wrong yet bore the brunt of the situation, she refrained from saying more. Adding further remarks would only tarnish Son Ju-ah’s reputation. This contradiction was something Chaeon didn’t want to dwell on. All she could think about was the accumulated fatigue weighing down on her and her desire to rest.

As she left the dining room, turning her back on the sympathetic gazes, she caught sight of a man’s retreating figure at the far end of the hallway. His broad shoulders remained upright, and even the hand casually tucked into the pocket of his suit trousers seemed more composed than careless—exuding a calm arrogance.

How could he embody such confidence with every step, the kind of arrogance unique to those who fear nothing? Such trivial incidents like the one she endured today—people like him would never experience them in their lifetime. Being treated as insignificant, or used as a dumping ground for someone’s frustrations, simply because of having no leverage. Feeling a faint ache in her chest at the thought, she was about to turn around when it suddenly hit her.

Ah.

The handkerchief. She had neatly washed and folded the handkerchief to return to him.

“Excuse me…!”

Calling out urgently, Chaeon hurried after him, and at her voice, Taeha halted mid-step. Turning his head slightly, he waited as she caught up, breathless.

“I have something to return to you.”

Turning fully, he faced her, and she extended the handkerchief toward him, neatly folded in her hands.

“The handkerchief you gave me back then.”

Glancing briefly at the wristwatch partially concealed beneath his shirt cuff, Taeha gave a light nod.

“Go ahead.”

Only someone like him could issue a command so indulgently. Yet, realizing again how busy he must be, as indicated by his time-checking, Chaeon refrained from saying more and turned away.

As she resumed walking toward her room, Chaeon tried to steady the swirling emotions in her chest, replaying the events that had just unfolded one by one.

Mother, or rather, the lady of the house. A woman referred to by both titles by Jang Taeha. She was probably Jang Yeon-jun’s biological mother—an unstable, deeply ill woman whose beauty even seemed unsettling. A figure entangled in the messy affairs of a previous generation, one not connected to him by blood. As she had suspected, the two didn’t get along—by a long shot.

For a fleeting moment, Chaeon glanced down at the hands she had used to play the piano keys. Her fingertips still trembled faintly from the lingering sensation. It was something she could never forget.

The vice-chairman apparently wanted it discarded, but the eldest son opposed it.

The piano belonging to his late mother. Despite being told to throw it away, he had gone so far as to call a tuner to restore it, intending to keep it in this household. Though Chaeon didn’t harbor entirely positive feelings toward Jang Taeha, who had dragged her into the center of this uproar, she found that part of him somewhat touching.

When she returned, he was leaning casually against the hallway wall, arms crossed. Occasionally, staff members passing by were startled to see him in such an unexpected spot, bowing quickly as they walked past. He responded with a half-hearted nod, exuding an aloofness that made the trace of sympathy she had felt earlier seem ridiculous.

Sensing her presence, he turned to face her. Bowing her head slightly, she handed him the neatly folded handkerchief.

“Thank you.”

However, he neither said a word nor showed any intention of taking the handkerchief from Chaeon. He simply gazed at her quietly with those deep, unreadable eyes.

Feeling awkward, Chaeon extended her hand further toward him. At that moment, Taeha gently took the handkerchief from her grasp, glanced at it briefly, and then—thud. The neatly folded handkerchief fell limply to the floor. More precisely, it landed at her feet.

What should she do?

Taeha silently looked down at the handkerchief lying at her feet. Chaeon, who seemed to be suppressing something with difficulty, let out a small sigh after a moment and bent down to pick it up. Without saying a word, she handed it back to him.

“…”

Taking the handkerchief from her without hesitation, Taeha narrowed his eyes slightly and crumpled it in his hand. Then, once again—thud. He let it fall to the ground.

This situation repeated itself three or four times. Each time, Chaeon quietly picked up the handkerchief and placed it back in his hand.

Is she planning to endure this? It was starting to get tedious. By the sixth time Chaeon handed him the handkerchief, Taeha seemed to act as if he would keep it, only to carelessly toss it to the floor again. This time, he locked eyes with her as he did it.

Chaeon’s lips, which had been tightly closed, parted slightly in disbelief. For a brief moment, frustration seemed to seep into her calm expression, but she quickly composed herself as if pretending it hadn’t happened.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

“Yes.”

“…”

“I’m curious to see how far you’ll endure.”

Yoon Chaeon, nineteen years old.

A life full of deficiencies, yet with so many repressed desires that they unknowingly seeped out—a precocious girl.

He already knew about the longing glances she would secretly cast his way. The way she pretended not to know, quickly looking away whenever their eyes met, as if it had never happened. He also understood how her defensiveness and intentional hostility were her way of guarding herself against her growing curiosity about him.

And yet…

“If you throw it a hundred times, I’ll pick it up a hundred times. That’s my role, after all.”

Taeha chuckled lightly. Dying to rebel, yet pretending to be obedient. In this Songbaekwon household, where everyone acted as if they were mere extensions of his will, her precociousness stood out glaringly—like a misplaced tile on an otherwise perfectly arranged floor, or a speck of dust that kept catching the eye.

How far could she endure before finally showing her claws? Something so trivial dared to test his nerves, and he felt compelled to break her stubbornness.

“Is that so?”

Taeha asked in a languid tone, before neatly folding the handkerchief and once again tossing it at her feet.

Her lower lip, bitten so hard it was on the verge of bleeding, trembled slightly as she stared at the fallen handkerchief.

“Pick it up.”

“…”

“We’re still a long way from a hundred throws.”