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Episode 22
“Hello, unnie.”
“What the heck? Since when are you two so close?”
“It’s been a while.”
Pretending to set down the bags she’d brought, Kang Dasom discreetly slipped her hand out from around his waist. Following behind her, Yoon Ji-hwan found it curious that Yoon Jin-woo was home, despite there being no special occasion.
“You want something?”
“No. …If there’s no shooting or schedules, I’ll start joining family meals again. I can’t live like this forever.”
“Suit yourself. Even if Mom says otherwise, she probably doesn’t mind you being around.”
Yoon Ji-hwan knew well that Yoon Jin-woo had little interest in company management. That was also the main reason he treated Jin-woo kindly—he wasn’t competition.
Dinner unfolded as usual. Company matters came up sporadically in conversation.
“I believe it’s best to internally wind down Cheonmyeong Electronics.”
“Hmm… yes, that might be best…”
“Father, may I say something?”
Yoon Sung-hoon, who had been listening quietly, cut in. Yoon Jun-seok gave a nod, gesturing for him to speak. After a brief cough, Sung-hoon began.
“If you look at Cheonmyeong’s disclosures, sales are down 8% year-on-year. But R&D spending remained flat. Profitability is dead, sure, but there’s still upside from the semi-autonomous communication module patent we acquired last year.”
“So what’s your point?”
“The market assumes we’re prepping for a full wind-down. But Greenfield Partners in North America prefers a JV over a direct acquisition. They’re known for turning around transition-phase companies by retaining existing systems while carving out assets via joint ventures—especially those with patents.”
“A joint venture means we share the risk.”
Ji-hwan jumped in again, challenging Sung-hoon. But Sung-hoon remained composed, laying out a firm rebuttal.
“We limit preconditions to LDD, keep any sale rumors confidential. They’ve already started internal pre-due diligence. If we lead with a proposal, we control the narrative. Only patents and related personnel go into the JV. They get 120% priority recoupment, then it’s 50:50. Governance splits into tech, ESG, and finance—with us chairing tech.”
He had reviewed the materials with Kang Dasom earlier before dinner, even rehearsed his lines. He occasionally glanced at papers laid on the table, but his delivery was sound.
“Who made contact with Greenfield?”
“I shortlisted potential buyers and made initial contact myself. Any word of a sell-off would tank our stock, so I kept it in-house. We’ve finalized NDAs with our internal team.”
“What? Already?”
Yoon Ji-hwan’s jaw dropped. He hadn’t caught wind of any of this, no reports, no hints of movement.
Under the table, he clenched his fist, teeth grinding.
“When the hell did that idiot pull this off?”
What made it worse—his proposal actually made sense. Yoon Jun-seok, the vice-chairman, put down his spoon and asked,
“Give me the timeline.”
“LOI this week. LDD within two weeks, then move straight to a conditional contract. To the press, we say only ‘technical cooperation.’ The core argument is that revival is less costly than dismantling.”
“Revival is cheaper than dismantling?”
“Shutting down may look clean on paper, but our patents and talent would leak to competitors. If we bind them in a JV, we share the risk but retain the tech. That way, we look like a company that sees things through—not one that just cuts its losses.”
Jun-seok’s lips curled into a smile. Ji-hwan, who knew his father’s tendencies well, instantly realized: he was sold.
“Sung-hoon.”
“Yes, Father.”
“You’ve been quiet lately, but looks like you haven’t just been idling, huh?”
“Haha, come on, Dad. I’m not a kid playing with fire anymore.”
“Is that so? Then I’ll leave this deal to you. Ji-hwan, what do you think?”
Ji-hwan, having finished his meal, took a long drink of water and offered a soft smile.
“Sung-hoon brought it up. He should handle it.”
“Sounds like you’re upset.”
“Not at all. Just a bit surprised my little brother grew up all of a sudden.”
“Come on, hyung. I can handle things on my own now.”
“Alright, alright.”
Ji-hwan gave in, pretending to relent. The same Sung-hoon who used to only spout nonsense was suddenly speaking clearly and strategically, shifting the mood to something oddly heartwarming.
After dinner and a short tea break, the family dispersed to their respective routines.
Dasom had stepped into the study at Jang Joo-bin’s request to look at a flower arrangement. When she stepped back out into the hallway, Yoon Ji-hwan was waiting.
She clasped her hands and bowed politely, trying to walk past. But he stopped her.
“They say people don’t change.”
“…”
“But Sung-hoon… he’s changed a lot lately.”
He used to be a walking disaster—scandals with women, reckless behavior, frequenting clubs like clockwork. But lately, there were no rumors, and he hadn’t been seen partying at all.
Could it be that Sung-hoon had finally gotten his act together?
Fat chance.
Even if an idiot sobers up, it’s just pearls on a pig.
You don’t become a man overnight.
“It was you, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t understand half of what was said at dinner—I’m clueless about business.”
“Winning over Mom, winning over Hana… You’re good at playing your cards.”
Ji-hwan’s gaze slowly trailed up and down Dasom. His intense stare made her uncomfortable.
He wasn’t like this before the regression… was he?
Yoon Ji-hwan was no different in essence. If Sung-hoon was a messy hedonist, Ji-hwan was a polished manipulator—clean, composed, with no loose ends.
Smarter, yes. But just as reckless in his own way.
“What is it you really want to say?”
“Don’t be too hard on Soo-ha. She’s been whining to me about how close you and Hana have gotten.”
“If Mother doesn’t like her, that’s her own fault. Not mine.”
“Exactly. Came back from some fancy overseas school, Daddy worked at a bank, thought she was clever. Turns out, she’s not even that.”
Clearly, Ji-hwan didn’t think much of Lee Soo-ha, who had never fully blended into the family.
When Dasom tried to walk past, Ji-hwan blocked her path and held out his phone.
“Give me your number.”
“I’d prefer to avoid misunderstandings.”
“Soo-ha has my number. You having it too isn’t a big deal. Or should I ask Sung-hoon instead?”
Dasom snatched the phone, typed in her number, and handed it back. Ji-hwan immediately called to confirm it rang on her end.
He’s more calculating than I remembered.
In the previous timeline, we barely interacted.
Now they were talking—but later, they wouldn’t even be able to look each other in the eye.
After Ji-hwan became Vice-Chairman, he practically had Sung-hoon banished from the house. And his eyes when he looked at Dasom back then—pure contempt. A look she could never forget.
“You can go now.”
Putting his phone away, Ji-hwan finally stepped aside.
Dasom, acting as though nothing happened, walked calmly down the hallway and returned to the living room, where tea was still being served. She settled onto the sofa.
