The Root of All Ills

"That's enough. Stop right there."

Ji-hoon raised his right hand, and I-eum's face immediately twisted into a pout of protest.

"Why? Why won't you let me talk?"

"Because everything you bring up with that serious look on your face turns out to be ridiculous."

"It is not!"

Grumbling about how unfair he was, I-eum still couldn't hold back what she'd been dying to say.

"Why were you waiting for me today?"

When Ji-hoon said nothing, silence settled over them.

The room was dim, the air taut enough that they could almost hear each other breathing. In that precarious quiet, I-eum's lips parted again.

"Maybe... because you wanted to walk me home—"

Tap.

But she had to stop mid-sentence at the sharp little sting on her forehead. It didn't hurt, exactly, but the indignity of it made her jut out her lips in protest.

"Why did you hit me!"

"To snap you out of it."

"I'm right, though. If you came all the way to the study room instead of going home at this hour—"

"That's because I'm standing in for the supervisor."

But her question had struck too close to the truth, and Ji-hoon couldn't carry the excuse any further.

Right. Why did I go looking for her?

Granted, a girl staying at school that late was worrying, but it hadn't required him to show up in person. His thoughts a tangle of confusion, he had driven her home all the same.

"Go on in."

"Okayyy."

Watching her slump off looking so deflated left Ji-hoon feeling oddly uncomfortable.

"Oh, wait!"

Then I-eum stopped halfway through unbuckling her seatbelt and turned back to him, as if remembering something she'd forgotten.

Round, black eyes like a baby chick's were fixed on him. That utterly guileless gaze unsettled Ji-hoon more than it should have, and he frowned slightly.

"What. Don't just stare—say it."

"Thank you for driving me home."

Of all things, the reason she'd turned around was a formal word of thanks.

I-eum gave a small bow, stepped out of the car, and Ji-hoon stayed rooted in place until she had disappeared inside the building.

What is this feeling?

It was as if the scent of her lotion still lingered in the car. Flustered by the thought, Ji-hoon only then wrenched the steering wheel around and drove off, rougher than necessary.

Chief Secretary Ju Min-jae had found his boss, Sung Ji-hoon, utterly impossible to figure out lately.

Somewhere along the way, the man had become strangely off.

By nature Ji-hoon was blunt about what he liked and disliked, so he did stir up the occasional trouble—but never past the point where charisma and decisiveness couldn't paper over it. Until now, that is.

"I'm done with the matseon."

Perhaps the idol-level popularity he endured at school had worn him down, but out of nowhere he canceled every weekend arranged date, leaving Min-jae scrambling to smooth things over.

"Go home. I have things to do."

By day he wandered the school grounds like a man with nothing in the world to do, then come evening he'd suddenly announce he was working late and send Min-jae home first.

Something had clearly changed in him.

Min-jae believed his suspicions had more than enough grounds, and he even entertained the idea of tailing his boss in secret—but he couldn't bring himself to do it. A man's private life deserved respect, just as his own did.

"Find out what's going on in that boy's heart."

But when he was summoned to headquarters and handed this order, he truly, honestly wanted to tender his resignation.

"...Me, sir?"

"Who does the boy let his guard down around more than you, Secretary Ju?"

"Well, I'm not sure that's necessarily—"

But under the steady gaze of Vice Chairman Sung Gil-joon, Min-jae quietly fell silent.

If ordered, he would do it. That was the fate handed to him.

"I've got a world of headaches these days, all because of that one son of mine."

"I understand, sir."

"Should've had two, if I'd known it'd come to this. We only stopped because I worried about my wife's health."

At that, Min-jae could offer nothing but an awkward laugh.

He knew the Vice Chairman's marriage had been a full-blown social scandal at the time—he'd married a girl barely eighteen.

The Madam was still shy of fifty today. Even allowing for how different the era was, Min-jae could only imagine the uproar it must have caused back then.

"With Ji-hoon digging in like this, I expect the Chairman to make a move."

"A move, sir?"

"The Chairman can't let go of Ri-won."

It was the development Min-jae had expected—and dreaded most. He held his silence for a moment.

"If that boy won't choose a bride himself, the Chairman's liable to force the marriage with Ri-won through. He met with her separately again yesterday, I hear."

"Do you think the Managing Director will just stand by?"

"He won't. But if this drags on, we'll reach the point where nobody would be surprised if the Chairman cut off one of his fingers and stamped it on the marriage registration. You know how the Chairman is, Secretary Ju."

Min-jae bowed his head, the weight of it settling over him.

Chairman Sung Hyun-do.

If Ji-hoon was the original, then Hyun-do was the source—one who played several moves ahead of his grandson at that. It was true, though, that he had doted on Ji-hoon alone among his grandchildren ever since the boy showed brilliance as a child. He'd even gone so far as to grant Ji-hoon the chance to pick his own bride.

Yet now, out of nowhere, the grandson who had always obeyed his grandfather's wishes was refusing even that. Small wonder the Chairman's patience was running dry. Min-jae's own chest was smoldering like a pile of autumn leaves, burning down to ash bit by bit.

He was on his way back to the school, his mind still knotted with worry, when his phone rang just short of the gate.

It was Ji-hoon. Swallowing a sigh, Min-jae answered.

"Yes, Managing Director."

Meanwhile, Ji-hoon stood leaning sideways in the corridor, one hand braced against his lower back. He was on his way back from consulting the principal—the creepy atmosphere around the study room at night had been bothering him, and he'd gone to discuss countermeasures.

"What is this?"

There was an edge to Ji-hoon's eyes.

"Did I have a visitor scheduled today?"

—I'm sorry? No, sir, there's no—

"How long am I supposed to stand here?"

The woman before him smiled, her eyes curving into crescents as she spoke.

Ji-hoon's brow furrowed deep. Once the call confirmed that no appointment existed, he hung up and turned to face her fully.

"How did you get in here?"

"I heard you got kicked out of headquarters. I was curious what that looked like—though it seems you're doing quite well for yourself?"

It was Kang Ri-won.

And behind her stood two employees, guarding like attendants, each holding something covered over—a shrouded object of unknown identity.

"So busy sweet-talking your way through life you couldn't even make our scheduled dates?"

"I have nothing to say to you. Leave."

"The Chairman sent me."

Ri-won crossed her arms and lifted her chin with haughty poise.

Ji-hoon didn't bother responding. Instead, his gaze slid, quiet and cold, to her elaborately manicured nails—and overlaid on them, unbidden, the memory of a short, clean set of nails he'd seen in the study room not long ago.

"So. What do you want."

"Open the door. I'm hardly going to take measurements out here in the hallway, am I?"

"What is that, exactly?"

Ji-hoon asked one of the employees standing behind Ri-won. The man threw a panicked glance at Ri-won, gauging her reaction, before venturing carefully,

"It's a formal uniform sample, sir."

Just as he'd thought.

Ji-hoon shifted his frost-chilled gaze to Ri-won.

"Hey. Kang Ri-won."

His voice was so glacial that her swagger faltered for an instant.

"I knew you were shameless a long time ago, but this is a new low even for you."

"Oppa."

"Don't oppa me, you—"

The sudden profanity made Ri-won's eyes go wide with disbelief.

She had known Ji-hoon for years. Not long ago, she'd even caused a catastrophic scene in front of both families—grandparents and parents alike.

"I'm a human being. I don't marry garbage."

And even then, this was a man who had never once stooped to a single curse.

"Pull a stunt like this one more time, and I won't let it slide."

His warning carried no bluster—only sincerity—and Ri-won ground her molars as Ji-hoon pulled his phone from his jacket and dialed someone.

"We have unauthorized vendors inside the building. Remove them at once. This touches directly on student safety, and I will see that responsibility is assigned for it."

The call finished, Ji-hoon simply opened the door to the Board Chairman's office and walked in.

"Hey! Sung Ji-hoon!"

Ri-won raged, beside herself, but the door slammed shut as if to dismiss her outright.

And at the far end of the corridor, unseen, a pair of eyes watched her stamp her feet in fury.