Episode 4 – A Father’s Please

The morning light crept slowly over the horizon, gilding the city in hues of gold and gray. Jungwoo stood in front of the tall black gates of Namjoon’s mansion, drenched from the earlier rain, clutching the thick envelope of money to his chest. His body still ached from the wounds of yesterday—five jobs, five fights with fate—but none of that mattered now.

Inside those walls was his son.

He took a deep breath and pressed the intercom. “Please… I need to see him. My son, Tae,” he said, voice trembling with exhaustion but steadied by resolve.

A guard’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Name?”

“Jungwoo.”

A pause followed—then the gates creaked open.

Jungwoo stepped through, heart pounding. The garden path stretched before him like a long test of faith, lined with trimmed hedges and wet marble tiles that mirrored his reflection—broken, desperate, but determined. Every step he took toward the grand mansion felt like walking into the lion’s den.

Inside the Mansion

Namjoon was in his study, dressed in a crisp black suit. The air smelled faintly of leather and smoke. Papers were neatly arranged on his desk, a half-finished glass of whiskey beside them.

Across from him, Jin leaned casually against a cabinet, flipping through a file. “You sure you want to meet him, hyung? After everything?”

Namjoon’s gaze flickered toward the window, where sunlight spilled across the floor. “He’s bound to come. I expected it,” he said, voice calm, detached. “Let him in.”

When Jungwoo entered, the guards held him for inspection, but Namjoon lifted a hand. “Let him go.”

Jungwoo stumbled forward, eyes darting around the lavish room—gold chandeliers, silk curtains, and a quiet power in the air that made him feel small.

Then his gaze found Namjoon.

The man sat behind the desk, posture flawless, eyes cold and unreadable.

“Namjoon,” Jungwoo began, his voice cracking. “I—I brought the money. Every bit of it. Please… let me see my son.”

Namjoon studied him for a long moment before leaning back in his chair. “You look terrible,” he remarked softly, almost with amusement. “Five jobs in one day. I heard.”

“How do you know—”

“I know everything that happens in my city.” His tone was sharp, controlled. “You’ve worked hard. I’ll give you that.”

Jungwoo stepped closer, the envelope shaking in his hands. “Please. I’ve done what you asked. I’ll do more if you want. Just… just let me hold Tae once. Just once.”

Namjoon’s expression didn’t change. “He’s fine here.”

“I’m his father!” Jungwoo burst out, his voice echoing through the room. “He needs me. You don’t know how he cries for me at night, how he—”

Namjoon’s eyes narrowed. “He doesn’t cry. Not anymore.”

The words struck Jungwoo like a slap.

Namjoon rose slowly from his chair, moving with quiet authority. “He eats well. Sleeps well. My staff takes care of him better than you ever could in that broken apartment. You think he misses poverty? Hunger? No.”

Jungwoo’s knees wobbled. “You think money replaces a father’s heart?”

Namjoon stopped in front of him, towering like a shadow. “No. But love doesn’t pay debts, Jungwoo. It doesn’t buy medicine or food. It doesn’t keep a child safe from this world.”

Jungwoo’s eyes glistened. “Please. Let me see him. I won’t take him. I just… I just want to see my boy smile.”

Namjoon turned his gaze away, expression blank. “He’s asleep.”

“He’s awake,” a soft voice came from behind—Jin, standing near the hallway. “He’s in the garden.”

Namjoon’s jaw tensed.

Jungwoo’s head snapped toward Jin. “Garden? Please, let me just see him from afar. I won’t go near. I swear on my life.”

Namjoon’s silence was louder than any refusal. He turned away, walking toward the window. Outside, sunlight danced on the grass where baby Tae sat on a blanket, clapping his tiny hands, giggling at the butterflies. A maid knelt beside him, blowing bubbles.

Jungwoo took one trembling step closer to the glass, eyes wide, breath catching in his throat. His son. His little Tae. Healthy. Laughing. The sound carried faintly through the open door, a melody that broke his heart open.

“Tae…” he whispered, tears spilling freely. “My boy…”

He reached a hand toward the window, fingers trembling—only for Namjoon to speak again, his tone cutting through the air like ice.

“Don’t.”

Jungwoo froze.

Namjoon turned, gaze cold as stone. “You see him now. That’s enough.”

“Enough?” Jungwoo’s voice cracked. “You think watching my son from behind glass is enough?”

Namjoon’s expression didn’t waver. “He doesn’t know you’re here. Don’t make it harder for him.”

The words stabbed deep. Jungwoo stumbled back a step, shaking his head. “You can’t keep him from me forever. I’m his father. I’ll earn him back—I’ll do anything—”

“Anything?” Namjoon’s tone dropped lower, almost dangerous.

“Yes!” Jungwoo cried, falling to his knees. “Kill me if you want, just let him live with me again. I’ll pay, I’ll work for you, I’ll—”

Namjoon’s voice sliced through his pleading. “You already do.”

Jungwoo looked up in confusion.

Namjoon stepped closer, his face inches away. “You think all that work you did yesterday went unnoticed? Every coin you earned—half of it flows back to me. Every place you go, every job you take… you’re already part of my system.”

Jungwoo’s breath hitched. “You planned this?”

Namjoon smirked faintly. “I don’t plan desperation. I just use it.”

For a long, trembling moment, Jungwoo could only stare. The envelope slipped from his hands, scattering bills across the floor.

“Please…” he whispered, barely audible. “He’s my whole world.”

Namjoon’s eyes softened for the briefest second—so brief Jungwoo thought he imagined it. Then the mask returned. “The world doesn’t care about your love, Jungwoo. Only strength matters.”

Namjoon turned to leave.

Jungwoo scrambled forward, gripping his sleeve. “Namjoon, I beg you—just one minute! Let me hold him—”

Namjoon yanked his arm free, voice cold and final. “You’ve seen him. Leave before I change my mind.”

The guards stepped forward.

Jungwoo looked past Namjoon, through the open door, and saw Tae toddling a few steps, laughing as a butterfly landed on his hand. For a moment, their eyes almost met—the father in tears, the child in sunshine.

Then the door closed.

Jungwoo collapsed to his knees, sobbing silently as the guards dragged him toward the exit. Every step away from the mansion felt like tearing flesh from bone.

Outside the Gates

Rain began again, soft and cold. Jungwoo stumbled down the marble stairs, his soaked clothes clinging to him, his breath shaking with every gasp. The guards shut the iron gates behind him with a metallic thud that echoed like a verdict.

He fell to his knees in the mud, staring at the mansion lights through the bars.

“Tae…” he whispered. “Appa’s here. I saw you. You’re smiling…”

He clutched the wet earth in his fists, pressing his forehead against the gate. “I’ll come back for you, my son. I swear it. I’ll bring you home. No matter who stands in my way.”

Thunder rumbled in the distance, low and ominous.

Behind the high walls, Namjoon stood at the balcony, watching the broken man below. Tae was now in his arms, small hands tugging at his shirt.

The baby laughed, oblivious to the storm.

Namjoon looked down at him, something strange flickering in his eyes—something dangerously close to guilt.

“Don’t look at him, little one,” he murmured. “He belongs to another world now.”

But Tae turned his head anyway, looking toward the rain, toward the direction where his father knelt.

Namjoon’s jaw clenched. “He’ll come again,” he said quietly. “I know he will.”

Jin, appearing beside him, exhaled softly. “And what will you do when he does?”

Namjoon’s expression hardened. “Remind him whose world this is.”

Lightning flashed—two fathers, two worlds, one child between them

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