Reluctant Permission

"What do you mean? That I put him up to it?"

Je-heon's voice sank as low as the look in his eyes.

"Exactly what I said. I told my son I turned the foundation down. I explained that he wouldn't be seeing you anymore, Mr. Gu. But Ji-woo told me he was staying at kindergarten to practice—and then he came here."

Yeon-jae's voice trembled as she went on, fracturing into fine, unsteady threads. She still couldn't shake the way her heart had plummeted when she found the kindergarten empty.

"He's never caused a single bit of trouble in his life. A child who only knows his mother—and he lied to me."

Je-heon said nothing.

"He's never told a lie. Not once. A child who cares that much about his mother wouldn't do something like that on his own."

"So what you're saying is that I talked Ji-woo into lying."

"Yes."

Yeon-jae answered through clenched fury, holding herself together by a thread.

"You made him lie, didn't you, President?"

Je-heon let out a short, incredulous laugh, as if the accusation had struck him speechless.

"Did Ji-woo actually tell you I made him lie?"

"Ji-woo doesn't even know how to lie."

Yeon-jae clenched her fists.

"What on earth did you say to him? What could you possibly have told a child to make him come here behind his mother's back?"

For a long moment Je-heon gave no answer. Then a hollow laugh slipped from him. The man who had stood frozen in place finally moved, closing the distance between them, and stopped with barely a single step left to spare.

"Jeong Yeon-jae. That's a wild assumption. No—more than that, you're not in your right mind right now."

"You're right. I'm not."

How could she possibly stay calm?

"He's a good boy who's never given me a moment of grief, and then you showed up and everything changed."

Ever since this man had appeared, her peaceful life had been thrown into chaos. The small, gradual shifts had only become unmistakably real today, with Ji-woo's lie. And once she felt that change, she couldn't bear it any longer.

"What mother would be in her right mind when her only son starts going off the rails?"

Silence stretched between them.

"Everything is a complete mess because of you, Gu Je-heon."

The bridge of his nose furrowed deeply. With a hand pressed to his forehead, Je-heon let out another hollow laugh—then his gaze shifted past her. As if he had spotted something, the man's eyes flickered for a brief moment before sinking into something dark and still.

The words came out like a man who had already given up.

"You said there was no place to practice, so I rented a rehearsal hall. You said there was no teacher to look after the kids, so I assigned the symphony orchestra."

Yeon-jae had no answer.

"And I put Ji-woo up to it, too. Feel better now?"

With that, Je-heon walked past her and into the building. He was striding forward without hesitation when he spotted Ji-woo and stopped. For the briefest moment he seemed to meet the child's eyes—then he vanished inside.

The boy couldn't bring himself to go to Yeon-jae, nor could he follow Je-heon. He simply stood there, lost, not knowing what to do.

On any other day, Yeon-jae would have asked Ji-woo about his day the entire way home. How kindergarten had been. What lessons he'd had, who he'd played with. The car ride back was always filled with the warm, easy murmur of the two of them talking.

Tonight, the car was not merely quiet. It was desolate.

Perhaps that was why Ji-woo kept stealing glances at Yeon-jae in the rearview mirror as she drove. He fidgeted with his fingers—a habit that surfaced whenever he was anxious.

What if Mom is really, really mad?

All at once, the rehearsal hall rose up in the child's mind. When Yeon-jae had appeared in the middle of practice, Ji-woo's heart had dropped straight through the floor. He had never imagined she would come all the way there. Of course, when he had lied about staying at kindergarten to practice, he hadn't imagined any of this would happen either.

Ji-woo's thinking had been simple. He wanted to play the piano. He wanted to be in the recital. But Ji-woo didn't have a piano, and the man was like Santa Claus—someone who would let him play. If he followed the man, he could play to his heart's content. He could even be in the concert and look amazing in front of his friends.

"I'm sorry, Ji-woo. I don't think Mom can grant that wish."

But Yeon-jae did not welcome Je-heon. No—if Ji-woo was honest, it seemed like Mom didn't like the man at all.

"This might be hard to understand. Mom can't leave you with him. The foundation is a scary place. Mom wants you to keep living the way you are now. I'm sorry."

So Ji-woo had believed she was against him being with the man at all. But if he didn't go with him, he couldn't play the piano.

"Um, Mom? Can Ji-woo and Seo-ha stay and practice for the recital together today?"

"You're going to stay at kindergarten to practice?"

"Mhm. Yeah."

That was how he had answered, when Yeon-jae asked if he was staying behind at kindergarten to practice. A beat later he had thought, wait—but by then the call had already ended.

A lie that had slipped out before he even knew he was telling it. Guilt had pricked at his conscience, sharp and insistent, but he had forgotten it soon enough. Practicing with Seo-ha had been too sweet. He had been drunk on the simple fact that he could play the piano as much as he wanted.

He had been so absorbed in the music that when Yeon-jae appeared, reality came crashing back all at once.

Good children aren't supposed to tell lies.

He knew lying made Mom sad, but it was already too late to take it back. When Yeon-jae had walked out of the rehearsal hall with Je-heon, looking angry, the last of his conscience had given him a hard poke.

Lying is bad. Ji-woo, go tell Mom the truth!

What are you talking about? Didn't you see Mom's face? I don't want to get in trouble! Just stay quiet and let it blow over.

Over his conscience, the angel and the devil inside Ji-woo started a tug-of-war. After a long, evenly matched struggle, Ji-woo couldn't stand it anymore and went looking for Je-heon and Yeon-jae.

When he came up to the lobby, he found a familiar back standing not far away, just outside.

Ji-woo, where do you think you're going? You're going to tell the truth? You'll end up bawling. Don't go!

That's the right choice! You bad devil—Ji-woo is a good kid.

Pressed right up against the glass door, Ji-woo had watched the two of them, then quietly eased it open. Little by little, he had been making his way toward them.

"Ji-woo doesn't even know how to lie."

That single sentence from Yeon-jae—so full of trust it could have been wrapped around him like a blanket—made Ji-woo flinch. But Ji-woo did lie. His lips trembled, the words refusing to come out.

Their voices were rising. The thought that Mom and the man were fighting because of him made his chest ache. He stood frozen to the spot—and then his eyes met Je-heon's.

"Fine. It's all my fault. I put Ji-woo up to it, too. Feel better now?"

Ji-woo couldn't forget the look on the man's face as he walked away—that disappointed expression, still turned toward Yeon-jae. He had gone to tell the truth, and in the end he hadn't managed to say a single word to her.

Not as Yeon-jae's car turned into the alley. Not even after she had finished parking.

After wrestling with himself the entire way, Ji-woo finally forced his mouth open.

"Mom... um."

He had just found the courage to begin when—

Yeon-jae had glanced back at Ji-woo for a moment as she picked up. It was a call from his teacher—and Ji-woo's lips sealed shut all over again. He sat in silence, fidgeting with his fingers and nothing else.

When the call ended, Yeon-jae turned back to him.

"Ji-woo. As I told your teacher, I'll allow the practice and the recital for now. But nothing beyond that."

Ji-woo nodded. The knot in his chest—the one that had been wound tight all this time with the fear that he wouldn't even be allowed to perform—loosened, just a little.

"And about what happened today... let's talk about it another time. What were you going to say, Ji-woo?"

"Ah—nothing."

Because what he had been about to say was exactly about today. The honest words he had meant to speak swirled inside the child's mouth and vanished.