The Heir & The Shadow

The glass of champagne that Jimin was holding was strange, as though it were a tiny prop. The Han mansion appeared as a kingdom that he inherited yet never managed to really run, which was visible up in the balcony below. He was sitting down to golden comfort beneath a swirling mass of the best and brightest of Seoul's elite, CEOs, politicians, celebrities, passing through meaningless whispers and pretended laughter. It was the second son of park Han who was celebrating his eighteenth birthday. However, as they got closer, they looked at him with judge-like eyes, unconcerned with him. They were determining his value and how he would be.

A very alliterative, gravelly voice was whispering by him, “A penny worth your thoughts, sir."

Jimin smiled politely and turned around. “Father. I was just… admiring the view.”

Park Han was a high man, a man who had made his own empire. His tuxedo was impeccably tailored, but it couldn’t hide the new tension in his shoulders, the faint web of lines around his eyes that spoke of more than age. He was taking whiskey, and an ice cube fell upon his ear as a little bell.

“Admiring or judging?” Park Han inquired, and noticed nothing. I recall how I was standing right here on my thirty birthday. I just saw walls, which I had not yet climbed. He sipped his drink again. *“You see walls too. But*yours are meant to keep you in, aren’t they?”

Jimin’s smile faltered. He overheard the keen notice of his father, which went through pretence. “It’s a beautiful party,” he said.

It’s a necessary spectacle. Park Han corrected gently. He shunned the winking mob and burdens himself on his son. The sound was gone and the balcony turned into the foremost boardroom. “Jimin-ah, you think I built all this for power? For the money?”

"Isn’t it?"

"It was for legacy. For family." The voice of his father was getting more urgent. "Well, it is a nest of vipers this world. They are smiling and curtsying and would give their own grandmother a shilling or two of our stock. To fortify your mother, your brother, and you, I have made a tower around your life."

"That is as though we were the ones incarcerated in the fortress, Appa", Jimin whispered and the confession was tearful.

Park Han’s eyes softened. He touched Jimin and firmly smacked him on the shoulder. *“I know. I’m sorry. But listen to me. Nothing is the same tomorrow."  ....... "*Everything is different tomorrow." Some weighty words there they were.

“What changes tomorrow?” His heart beats against his ribs and Jimin asked.

"The game laws", his father said enigmatically. His gaze was flicking up and down the shoulder of Jimin, and he glanced round the crowd and closed his eyes a little. Was it suspicion? Fear?

“When the clock strikes midnight, you cease to be a child in their eyes. And in mine. There are things you need to know. Documents to see. The true shape of this fortress.” He squeezed Jimin’s shoulder. "After the cake is cut, keep on. We will talk, truly talk.”

A loud laugh came up before Jimin could utter a word. The good CFO, Kim Joon, proposed a glass full of joviality. Park Han sank into his socially acceptable mask, giving Jimin a parting glance of esignorance, threat and something more, and disappearing into the crowd, leaving Jimin standing alone with the reverberation of his promise.

Tomorrow, everything changes. 

The words turned into a mantra, a desperate drumming that was in tandem with the heartbeat of Jimin.

He spent the next hour dazed. The champagne smoked, good wishes swam. He followed his brother Minjun dealing with investors and smiled sharp. He also witnessed his mother who was beautiful and calm, a porcelain figure on a shelf. However, with the fresh perspective of the caution of his father, all things appeared different.

The big cake time arrived. Eighteen candles set up and waved their lights upon the eyes of Jimin as the crowd sang. He wished to breath and could not wish. The only thing he could have was an increased anticipation of the dialogue ahead.

Just as the very last note of the birthday song died away in applause, there came another sound tearing through the night.

It wasn’t fireworks.

It was sharp, singular, and final.

A gunshot.

The shot was made in the secret backyard garden of the mansion. For a heartbeat, there was absolute silence. Then a scream erupted of women, and then others, and then came panic in a chorus.

The glass which Jimin was holding in his numb fingers slipped out onto the marble floor and broke off in a tiny, negligible crash as his world started to shatter abruptly and, horrifyingly, without any warning.

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