Munjeong - Chapter 26

If the man she had faced that night had felt like a predator ready to bite down on her nape and pin her down, the man before her now, perhaps due to the exhaustion evident on his face, did not exude the same oppressive energy. Feeling a small sense of relief, Chaeon asked,

“…The piano?”

Taeha leaned back against the headboard of the bed, rubbing the shadowed corners of his eyes.

“I haven’t been able to sleep properly for days, so I need someone to help me fall asleep.”

Chaeon frowned slightly at the nonsensical remark.

“I can play the piano, but I’m not exactly skilled at helping people sleep.”

“You never know.”

“Sorry?”

“I might fall asleep while listening to it.”

“And if you don’t?”

His gaze, deeper and heavier than usual, fixed on hers.

“Shouldn’t you at least make an effort before saying that?”

“Why are you asking me to—”

“Last time.”

“……”

“I think I mentioned that I don’t like repeating myself.”

At his cold words, the retort forming on her lips was abruptly silenced, her mouth closing like a clam. With a resigned sigh, Chaeon suppressed her rising irritation and sat on the piano bench.

“Do you have a preferred piece? Something that soothes you, perhaps.”

“Anything.”

He added with a faint smirk.

“Play whatever you want.”

Caught for a moment by the gentle curve of his lips, Chaeon quickly dropped her gaze to the keys as his attention began to return to her. So, he knows how to smile like that. It was a side of him entirely unlike the razor-sharp persona he typically wore.

To summon her so suddenly and then ask her to play the piano because he couldn’t sleep well… It wasn’t just the discomfort she felt around him; seeing an unexpected facet of him left her feeling strangely unsettled.

“Well…”

Even though she was now seated at the piano, her hands hesitated, hovering over the keys. The memory from a few days prior lingered, leaving her fingers reluctant to move. Sensing her hesitation, Taeha spoke in a low voice.

“It’s fine. Just play.”

“……”

“No one will treat you carelessly like before, so do as you wish.”

Why did those words sound like encouragement? Chaeon bit down discreetly on the inside of her lip, staring down at her hands resting on the keys.

Having given up so much in life from a young age, Chaeon had grown far too accustomed to suppressing herself. To her, doing anything according to her own will was unthinkable. Even if there was something she wanted, she always ended up not having it, so she had chosen instead to turn away or harbor resentment. Perhaps that applied to the piano as well.

Once, when she had sat before an instrument as if possessed by a fleeting desire, her indulgence had been punished immediately, as though scolding her for such greed. That memory, of hands striking her, lingered, keeping her frozen in place.

But Taeha, in his own way, pushed her forward again.

After remaining still for what felt like an eternity, her hands finally began to move, slowly, over the keys.

The soft, delicate first note resonated, gradually filling the room with a melody akin to a moonlit lakeside sprinkled with silver powder. Debussy’s “Clair de Lune.” Taeha slowly closed his eyes. Perhaps the medication was starting to take effect, as the clear piano notes seeped into his ears, which felt muffled as if soaked in water.

His insomnia often struck him like a seizure. The more he burdened himself with tasks and responsibilities, the more frequently it occurred.

The more he gained in his hands, the more people targeted him, which required him to have unshakable strength in the face of most circumstances. To acquire that strength, he had to know more than anyone else and reinforce his defenses to be impervious.

“The Vice Chairman has met with Believe Entertainment CEO Kim Chang-woo. This is the fifth time this year alone, and as you might have guessed, it seems they’re preparing to acquire the entertainment company. Believe’s financial situation is becoming increasingly strained.”

It had been a long time since Chairman Jang openly expressed his support for Taeha. The rift between Chairman Jang and Jang Ik-hyun was deepened not only by their personal history but also by Jang Ik-hyun’s incompetence and the tarnished corporate image caused by the employees he had gathered, who seemed to harm the company’s reputation almost daily.

The beginning of the decline was a scandal where a reporter off the record revealed at a drinking party that a female employee’s allegations of sexual harassment within the company had been covered up. This led to news articles, though the company name and parties involved were only identified by initials. However, Joon Kwang’s name was indirectly mentioned on anonymous office worker forums, forcing Vice Chairman Jang Ik-hyun to make a public apology at a press conference.

In the wake of the revealed truth, the company’s stock price plummeted dramatically, and ridicule-filled nicknames were attached to Joon Kwang’s name for a time. After his mother’s death, he had nearly severed ties with Woosung, and since he caused the very situation Chairman Jang despised the most, Jang Ik-hyun’s position was bound to weaken.

“What a poor judge of business.”

Believe, once considered a major entertainment agency, had seen fleeting success with its aggressive overseas market expansions. However, after a failed contract renewal with a popular idol group, it had failed to achieve any notable results.

Although the company had ambitiously invested in media-mix projects, significant issues arose with a drama produced by a renowned studio—plagiarism accusations and unpaid subcontractor wages—that overshadowed even the company’s most anticipated project for the first half of next year. Its investments in gaming also repeatedly failed due to fierce competition, leaving the company in dire straits.

“Investors are pressuring for early repayment. Based on the materials I provided, it’s uncertain whether they can even issue convertible bonds, given the stock price continues to plummet.”

Taeha simply laughed at Secretary Kim’s report.

“For someone who dismissed Jang Seong-ju so openly, it seems he’s dug his own grave.”

“Believe Entertainment is pushing a business combining entertainment with VR, and a lot of investors seem tied up in it.”

Taeha let out a faint scoff. Having messed up an AI venture, now they were entangled in VR and nightlife.

“Assign some staff to approach the investors and keep updating me on related intel. Continue monitoring Believe’s financial situation.”

“Understood.”

The downfall of a declining mind was truly terrifying. AI, VR, and the endless IP supply for dramas and movies—none of these ventures considered how trend-sensitive and volatile such markets were. Jumping into these without preliminary research was foolish. The drama and film industries were plagued by poor working conditions, spiraling celebrity salaries, and a routine of failures overshadowing the occasional success.

“They probably thought they could offset seven out of ten failures with one or two hits,” Taeha mused, disgusted by the naïve optimism of someone who shared his blood. Money dictates everything now, but Chairman Jang surely wouldn’t tolerate this reckless behavior for long.

The flood of thoughts made it impossible to sleep deeply. Even as the combined effects of the medication and the piano music blurred his consciousness, his eyes refused to close easily. Taeha, suppressing his sinking awareness, slowly opened his eyes.

The frail girl sat by the window bathed in light, her delicate frame striking the piano keys.

People in his position were well-versed in noticing the insidious and intimate desires of others. Holding out what they wanted most, whispering tempting promises—this approach always worked, no matter how detached the other person seemed. They would inevitably kneel before their desires when what they craved most was dangled before them.

Young, inexperienced Yoon Chaeon would likely crumble even faster. The piano was a tool to seduce her, a sweet offering hidden deep within.

And yet… Having her play the piano wasn’t solely about getting her to move as he desired.

It was also because that melody from the piano brought back the most peaceful moments of his memory, providing a brief reprieve from his tense, strained days. To his surprise, the fragile girl, barely half his size, played a rendition remarkably similar to the one he remembered.

Taeha’s gaze narrowed as he stared at Chaeon, deeply immersed in her performance. The oversized cardigan draped over her slender frame, so loose it almost engulfed her.

…Ah, Jang Yeonjun.

Suppressing the laugh that nearly escaped him at such a transparent display, Taeha’s dark gaze lingered on Chaeon as he rose to his feet. Chaeon, focused on her playing, flinched and stumbled as she noticed his movement.

Ping. A loud discordant note rang out, cutting through the harmony. Startled, she stopped playing as Taeha approached her from behind, his shadow looming over her seated form.

With a casual tug, his large hand pulled the cardigan off Chaeon’s fragile shoulders.

Thunk.

The cardigan, steeped in Yeonjun’s scent, slipped to the floor like a discarded shell, landing beneath the piano bench.