Episode 5

The rain had finally stopped, leaving the city veiled in mist. Jungwoo stood before a dimly lit building at the edge of the industrial district—one of Namjoon’s lesser-known operations. The air smelled of iron and damp concrete, and the neon light flickered above him like a broken heartbeat.

He hadn’t slept in two days. The memory of Tae’s laughter in the mansion garden still haunted his mind—bright and unreachable, like sunlight through prison bars.

Today, Jungwoo had made a decision. If Namjoon wouldn’t let him near his son from the outside… he would get close from within.

The Offer

“Boss Namjoon doesn’t take in strays,” the man at the door spat, arms crossed. “Who sent you?”

Jungwoo met his eyes, steady and unwavering. “Tell him Jungwoo’s here. I want to work for him.”

The guard scoffed, about to push him away, when another voice cut through the tension.

“Let him in.”

Namjoon’s voice carried calm authority from behind. He was dressed in black again, immaculate as always, his expression unreadable. The rain hadn’t touched him—he looked untouchable.

Jungwoo stepped forward, bowing slightly, his voice hoarse. “I’m not here to beg. I want to earn. Give me any work you want, any test. I’ll do it.”

Namjoon’s gaze lingered on him for a long, silent moment. “You think you can survive in my world, Jungwoo? The same world that already broke you?”

Jungwoo clenched his fists. “If that world keeps me close to my son, I’ll survive it twice.”

Something flickered in Namjoon’s eyes—interest, maybe amusement. He turned away, walking toward his car. “Then follow.”

Inside the Empire

The car ride was silent. Namjoon didn’t look back once. Jungwoo sat still, every muscle tense, his reflection staring back from the tinted window—tired eyes, bruised knuckles, a man walking willingly into his own cage.

When they arrived, Namjoon led him through one of his warehouses—a massive operation of crates, guards, and whispers. Jungwoo could feel eyes watching him from every corner.

“You’ll start at the bottom,” Namjoon said finally. “Deliveries. Night shifts. No questions, no mistakes.”

Jungwoo nodded. “Understood.”

Namjoon turned slightly. “You report directly to Jin.”

Jin stepped out from the shadows, a half-smile playing on his lips. “Guess you’re back, hyung. Hope you don’t faint this time.”

Jungwoo gave a faint nod. “I’m not here to faint. I’m here to work.”

Namjoon watched him for another moment before walking away, voice low. “Let’s see how long your heart survives this world.”

The First Night

The first week passed in darkness and fatigue. Jungwoo carried heavy crates, cleaned weapons, ran errands at odd hours. His back ached, his hands blistered, but he said nothing. Every time exhaustion threatened to swallow him, he thought of Tae—his smile, his laugh, his tiny hands reaching for him in his dreams.

But each morning, as he worked outside the mansion delivering shipments, he’d glance at the high walls and windows above. Somewhere inside, his son was growing—fed, clothed, happy.

He was close, yet painfully far.

Tae’s Laughter

One afternoon, while delivering documents to the mansion’s inner gate, Jungwoo paused. A faint, familiar sound floated through the air—the sound of laughter.

His heart stopped.

Beyond the hedges, in the garden, Tae was playing again—running clumsily on tiny legs, his laughter ringing like music. A maid followed behind, chuckling softly as the boy chased a ball across the lawn.

Jungwoo froze, breath catching in his throat. He couldn’t step forward, but his eyes drank in every second. His son looked so healthy, so bright.

Then, as if sensing something, Tae suddenly stopped. The ball rolled away, but his little head turned—eyes searching the air.

“Appa…” he murmured softly, a sound only Jungwoo could have recognized.

Tears burned Jungwoo’s eyes. He pressed a hand against the fence, voice breaking into a whisper. “Tae…”

Before he could say more, a guard appeared. “Hey! You’re not supposed to be here!”

Jungwoo quickly bowed his head, muttering an apology, and backed away. But inside him, something had changed. His son had recognized him—his voice, his presence, his love.

For the first time in weeks, Jungwoo felt alive.

Namjoon’s Suspicion

Later that night, in his study, Namjoon flipped through files while Jin stood by the window.

“You put him on warehouse duty, but he’s spending extra time near the mansion,” Jin said quietly. “You think he’s here for work or… for something else?”

Namjoon didn’t look up. “He’s here for his son. We both know that.”

“Then why keep him?”

Namjoon set the papers down and leaned back in his chair. “Because sometimes it’s better to keep your enemy where you can see him.”

He swirled the whiskey in his glass. “And maybe… because I want to see how far a father’s love can go before it breaks.”

Jin gave a faint smirk. “That’s dangerous curiosity, hyung.”

Namjoon’s eyes darkened. “So is underestimating it.”

A Visit at Dusk

Days passed. Jungwoo became part of the system—efficient, quiet, invisible. Namjoon began to notice that he never complained, never hesitated.

One evening, Namjoon found him in the courtyard, repairing a damaged car. Sweat dripped down Jungwoo’s face, streaked with oil and dirt.

“You’re not like the others,” Namjoon said quietly, stepping closer.

Jungwoo looked up, startled. “I just do what I must.”

“You could leave. You have the money. The debt’s cleared.”

Jungwoo met his gaze. “My debt isn’t money anymore.”

Namjoon’s brow arched slightly. “Then what is it?”

Jungwoo wiped his hands, his voice trembling but firm. “My son. Until I can hold him again, I owe this world everything.”

For the first time, Namjoon didn’t respond. He turned away, but not before Jungwoo caught something in his eyes—doubt, or maybe a shadow of empathy.

Tae’s Song

That night, as Jungwoo was leaving, he passed near the mansion again. Through an open window, he heard a faint lullaby—a soft voice humming a tune he knew by heart.

It was his song.

The one he used to sing to Tae at night, when the baby cried and refused to sleep.

Jungwoo froze, eyes wide. Inside, a caretaker gently rocked Tae, singing the same melody. Tae clapped his hands, giggling, as if remembering.

Jungwoo covered his mouth to stifle a sob. His little boy still remembered the song… remembered him.

Then a shadow appeared behind the glass. Namjoon.

Their eyes met—one man outside, soaked and trembling, another inside, calm and composed.

Namjoon pulled the curtain shut without a word.

Breaking Point

That night, Jungwoo returned to his small room above the warehouse. He stared at the cracked mirror, whispering to his reflection.

“He remembers me. He still remembers.”

His hands shook as he pressed his palm over his heart. “Hold on, Tae. Appa’s coming for you soon.”

But even as he said it, he knew Namjoon was beginning to suspect his every move. Guards watched him more closely. His tasks became harder. It was as if Namjoon wanted to see how long he could endure before breaking.

And Jungwoo refused to break.

Namjoon and Tae

In the mansion, Namjoon sat with Tae in his arms, the boy now half-asleep, clutching a small wooden toy.

“Do you miss him?” Namjoon asked quietly, not expecting an answer.

Tae blinked drowsily, then reached out a tiny hand toward the window. “Appa…”

The single word pierced through Namjoon’s calm exterior like a knife. For the first time in years, he looked away, unsure of what he felt.

He stood, gently placing Tae in his crib. “You don’t know what kind of man your father is,” he murmured. “Or what kind of man I’ve become.”

He looked out at the dark city below. “Maybe neither of us deserve you.”

The Cliffhanger

The next evening, Jungwoo received a message from Jin: “Boss wants to see you. Alone.”

When he entered Namjoon’s study, the air felt heavier than usual.

Namjoon stood by the window, holding something small in his hand—a photo. Jungwoo froze when he saw it. It was the picture of him and Tae from years ago, the one he had pawned during his fourth job.

Namjoon turned slowly. “You sold this.”

Jungwoo’s breath caught. “I… I had to. For the debt.”

Namjoon placed the photo on the desk, eyes sharp. “And now it’s back where it belongs.”

Jungwoo’s pulse pounded. “Why are you showing me this?”

Namjoon stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Because I want to know… are you working for me, Jungwoo? Or against me?”

Jungwoo met his gaze, chest tightening. “I’m just trying to live.”

Namjoon studied him for a moment, then smiled faintly. “Good. Keep it that way.”

He turned away, but his tone carried a quiet threat. “If I ever think otherwise… you’ll never see your son again.”

Jungwoo’s breath trembled, but he bowed deeply, masking the storm in his chest.

As he walked out of the room, the lullaby echoed faintly again from upstairs—Tae’s laughter blending with the song.

And Jungwoo smiled through his tears. “You still remember me, my boy. Just wait a little longer.”

Outside, lightning flashed over the mansion. Inside, Namjoon stood in the dark, looking at the same photograph, his thumb brushing over Tae’s smile.