Into The Thrill

"Taeshin gave small-scale private lessons to sculpture entrance exam students at his studio. He had started tutoring reluctantly, unwilling to work at his father’s company. It wasn’t that he lacked skill—he had attended a decent university, and so he always had a steady stream of students.

Once he had accumulated a few works, he would rent a gallery and hold an exhibition. Sometimes, his pieces sold for high prices—though, in reality, it was likely his parents buying them under someone else’s name to boost his reputation. Because of that, he gained some fame as a promising young artist, and his work sold fairly well for a while. But it didn’t last. He hadn't held an exhibition in a {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} long time.
'Did he ever mention any well-known names?'
'…Well-known names?'

'Politicians, business executives, anyone like that.'
'I don’t recall anything like that.'
Haewon was puzzled by the line of questioning. It sounded as if they suspected Taeshin’s suicide wasn’t just the result of despair. He looked at the inspector with a questioning gaze.

'The night Lee Taeshin jumped from his apartment rooftop, he made a lot of phone calls. About ten to you. And also, ah, perhaps…'
Hwang abruptly stopped speaking and shot up from his seat, as if he had seen a ghost. Haewon followed his gaze.
Someone was approaching them.

It was him—the man Haewon had seen at the hotel pool, and later, at Taeshin’s funeral.
"……."
Inspector Hwang, tense with nervousness, bowed slightly in greeting.

"Prosecutor, sir, thank you for coming. Apologies for the inconvenience. The chairman of Kyungwon Group personally asked our chief to investigate, so we had no choice but to proceed with this case."
"It’s fine. If it’s a necessary witness inquiry, I should cooperate."
The man’s voice was low, his tone neither adding nor omitting anything unnecessary. As Haewon sat there, still looking up at him, their gazes finally met.

"……."
"……."
The man stared at Haewon, not in a way that sought to read his thoughts, but as if trying to place his face. A silence stretched between them—one that filled Haewon with distaste. The moment he had seen the man, he had instantly recognized him. Yet the other took his time, struggling to remember.

Then, a flicker in his expression—his brow twitched slightly. He seemed to recall the hotel pool. At the funeral, only Haewon had noticed him; the man had never looked his way.
His gaze trailed slowly down Haewon’s face, moving downward before making its way back up. The sensation was suffocating, like a hand tightening around his throat. Haewon tried to recall how he had appeared at the funeral.
"Ah, my apologies. You were scheduled to come tomorrow, but the date suddenly changed. This interview is nearly finished. Moon Haewon, you can go now. If we need anything else, we’ll call you."
Inspector Hwang gestured for Haewon to stand up and leave.

"I still haven’t heard what this is about. What exactly is suspicious about Taeshin’s suicide?"
Haewon didn’t move, instead pressing for an answer. It was his turn to ask questions now. Hwang hesitated and glanced at the man beside him, clearly looking for direction. The man, holding his coat draped over one arm, simply stood in silence. He wasn’t hurrying anyone, yet his presence alone was imposing.
"I’m curious as well," he said. "Let’s conduct the investigation together."

It wasn’t an invitation or persuasion—it was a command. The man dragged over an empty chair and placed it beside Haewon before sitting down, hanging his coat on the backrest.
Haewon glanced at him from the side. Their eyes met again. The man’s gaze was unreadable, devoid of any indication of his thoughts. He studied Haewon’s face before finally shifting his attention to Inspector Hwang.
Hwang, cautious, sought his approval.

"Would that be alright with you, sir?"
"It’s fine."
No one had bothered asking if it was fine with Haewon.

Hwang took his seat again and began flipping through files.
"The night Lee Taeshin died, he called Moon Haewon about ten times. And you, Prosecutor—he called nearly twenty times. How did you know him?"
The difference in tone was striking. With Haewon, Hwang had been neutral, maybe slightly firm. But with this man, his voice was careful, almost deferential. The man sat with one leg crossed over the other, idly tapping his fingers against his knee. The rhythm was unnervingly steady—neither too fast nor too slow, like a metronome.

Ten calls to Haewon. Twenty to this man.
Twenty calls to him?
Could it be…?

Haewon’s heart dropped.
At Taeshin’s funeral, he had been confused by the man’s presence. He had assumed he was an acquaintance of Taeshin’s father. But no, surely not.
The man Taeshin had loved.

Haewon had mocked Taeshin’s flowery words, assuming they were exaggerations of a love-struck fool. But now, standing before him, the man’s features were exactly as Taeshin had described—his impossibly long lashes, his striking profile, the way he carried himself.
At least, in the end, Taeshin’s love had not been one-sided. Haewon remembered the man’s expression at the funeral. His composed sorrow. If Taeshin had seen him there, would he have regretted his death? He had succeeded in drawing the man to his final farewell.
It was him.

The man Taeshin had loved—this was him.
Taeshin had never mentioned his name. But Haewon would have staked his life on it.
The man spoke.

"We met at a recital. After that, he became my younger sister’s tutor."
His voice wasn’t forceful, yet it had a quiet, compelling authority.
Taeshin had said his voice was beautiful. He had said his lashes were long. His features, so perfectly sculpted, had a magnetism that made it impossible to look away.

As the man answered the detective’s questions, his eyes suddenly flicked toward Haewon. A barely-there smile ghosted across his lips before he looked away again.
Haewon felt a surge of disgust.
What? Are you wondering if I find you as breathtaking as Taeshin did? Does my expression give it away? Does my gaze betray me, just as his did?

That’s what his eyes seemed to ask.
"Your younger sister?" Hwang prompted.
"Lee Taeshin graduated from Hongdae University’s Sculpture Department. He was an artist, but he also tutored entrance exam students. Since my sister was preparing for exams, we kept in touch."

Hwang turned to Haewon.
"Did you know about this?"
"He gave small group lessons and helped students with their portfolios."

Hwang nodded and looked back at the man.
"You didn’t answer his calls that night either, correct?"
"I was in a meeting."

Just like him. Neither of them had answered when Taeshin needed them most.
Thinking about the moment Taeshin stood on the edge of the rooftop, desperately seeking someone—anyone—to pick up the phone, made Haewon’s stomach churn.
Hwang continued.

"Did you notice anything strange about Lee Taeshin recently? Any unusual connections?"
"Unusual connections?"
"Anyone he wouldn’t normally associate with—politicians, business executives, anyone high-profile."

Hwang hesitated, as if second-guessing his own question. Was he intimidated by the man? Or had he just asked something he shouldn’t have?
The question lingered, heavy in the air.
It wasn’t just about suicide anymore. Hwang was implying that someone important was tied to Taeshin’s death."

"I haven't heard anything like that."
At the man's response, Inspector Hwang turned to Haewon.
"Moon Haewon, you’re free to go."

"What did you mean by 'suspicious'?"
"That’s classified. It’s an ongoing investigation, so I can’t share any details. If we need anything else, we’ll contact you. Now, please leave."
He was trying to get rid of him as quickly as possible.

Haewon had assumed Taeshin jumped because of his unrequited love, because he had despaired over an impossible relationship. But now, they were suggesting that there might have been another reason behind his death.
If he had answered the call that night, maybe he would have known why Taeshin wanted to jump. But what was the point in speculating now?
He was dead. Gone from this world. Haewon had never truly been his friend, nor anything else.

Inspector Hwang signaled with his eyes for him to leave. Without hesitation, Haewon stood up, slung his violin case over his shoulder, and turned to go.
"I imagine this must be inconvenient for you, Prosecutor. Having ties with someone like him…"
"No, it’s fine. If I can help, I’d like to."

As Haewon walked away, their voices faded into nothing.
He hadn't known that the man’s younger sister had been one of Taeshin’s students. But after Taeshin had called him that night to say he had finally slept with the man he loved, they had never spoken again. He didn’t know the details, and he didn’t want to.
At the end of the day, Taeshin had jumped of his own accord. That wouldn’t change.

∞ ∞ ∞
Haewon didn’t go back to his officetel. Instead, he checked into a hotel in the middle of the city.
Kim Jaemin called, but he didn’t pick up. He wouldn’t pick up. He never wanted to see him again.

Then he called a real estate agent and put his officetel up for sale. Until he found a new place, he planned to stay at the hotel.
The calls from Kim Jaemin gradually decreased before stopping altogether. A final text came through:
I have to go back to the U.S. I have work.

I’m sorry. I was wrong. I don’t even know what I did wrong, but I’m sorry. Can’t you forgive me?
That was how it ended.
Haewon didn’t reply.

Even after Jaemin left for the U.S., he still didn’t return to his officetel. Staying at the hotel was easier. He paid for two weeks in advance.
After eating lunch at the hotel restaurant, he handed over his card to pay, only for the staff to inform him that the card had been declined. Without a second thought, he pulled out cash and handed it over.
His father had frozen his cards.

Suppressing his irritation, Haewon called his father.
—"Ah, my devoted son, only calls when he needs something."
"Did you block my card? I just tried to use it, and it won’t go through."

—"Why the hell are you racking up millions at a hotel when you have a perfectly good place to stay? Did you think your stepmother wouldn’t notice all the transaction alerts?"
"Every time I use the card, she gets a notification?"
—"Three million at a department store the other day. Seven million at a hotel today. Your stepmother said spending ten million won in a single month is excessive. And honestly, I have to agree. You’re old enough to pay for yourself now. Being self-sufficient is part of being human, or so your stepmother says. And I think she’s right—you’re getting spoiled."

"……."
It was the winter clothes he had bought at the department store that had caused this mess. Haewon bit his lip and said nothing.
—"If you have nowhere to go, just come home. Stop wasting money on a hotel."

"Should I bring up your new household in the U.S.?"
—"Don’t you dare pull that card. Your stepmother already suspects something. She’s been crying in front of the kid. It’s a headache. I had to temporarily give her control over the finances—not that she actually has full control, but still. Now, even my transactions trigger notifications."
"What?"

—"Listen, brat. Stop wasting money and just come home!"
"I’ll come to your office. Give me a new card. One that doesn’t send notifications to my stepmother. One with no spending limit. I’ll be there soon."
Without waiting for a response, Haewon ended the call.

He glared at his phone as if staring directly at his father.
Then, he headed for his father’s company.
It had been years since he last visited. He had to look up the address online before giving it to the taxi driver.

The entrance was crowded, allowing him to slip through unnoticed, but he was stopped at the executive office reception.
"Who are you?" the secretary asked.
"His son."

At that, she gave him a long, scrutinizing look, scanning him from head to toe with a gleam of curiosity.
"My apologies. Right this way."
She knocked on the CEO’s office door before opening it for him.

Haewon stepped inside, his violin case slung over his shoulder. His father was practicing his golf swing on an indoor putting mat.
"Sir, your son is here."
"Oh? You’re here? Come in, come in."

Without looking at him, his father carefully lined up his shot, swinging his club with the precision of someone who cared more about the ball than his son.
"Would you like something to drink?"
"I won’t be long."

"Alright, then."
The secretary bowed and left. Haewon plopped down onto the sofa.
"Give me a card. Or issue me a new one. One that my stepmother doesn’t know about."

"Did you put your place up for sale?"
"Jesus, is there no such thing as privacy in this family? How the hell did you know?"
"You didn’t know there’s a lien on your officetel?"

"It’s my place. Why the hell did you put a lien on it?"
"In case you didn’t listen to me. So I could seize it."
"Well, I put it up for sale. I can’t stand how many people just waltz in and out of there."

"How do you plan to move out when all the soundproofing equipment is custom-fitted? That alone cost hundreds of millions. You think I’m made of money?"
"It’s already listed. Just give me the card. I need to buy new soundproofing for my next place."
"Ah, for fuck’s sake."

His father’s swing went off, and the golf ball shot off in the wrong direction, rolling right to Haewon’s feet.
Haewon picked it up, holding it hostage in his hand, and stared at his father.
"You little shit. You think credit cards are endless money fountains? That’s all debt that needs to be paid back."

"Should I call my stepmother? Should I tell her about your second home in San Francisco? That’s where the U.S. branch is, right? And I bet your new home is there too."
"How the hell did you know that?!"
When Haewon pulled out his phone, his father flinched and hurried over.

"You hate traveling far, so I knew it had to be somewhere close to the company. Is she an employee there? She’s not Korean, is she? Japanese? Chinese?"
"Jesus, how do you know all this? You should open a fortune-telling business."
"You don’t like Western women. You always complain about their big tits."

"Ugh, don’t remind me. She’s got tits the size of my damn face. It’s horrifying."
Haewon cringed at his father’s vulgar choice of words.
"Just give me a new card. One my stepmother won’t find out about."

"She’s 22, Chinese, used to wait tables at a restaurant. Tall, long legs—looks like a damn movie star in a qipao. Oh, my sweet Gaoling, I miss her."
Haewon had no clue who Gaoling was, and he didn’t care.
"Just give me the fucking card."

 
"You can’t sell the officetel. Attorney Park said its value will double in three years. I’m keeping it for now."
Despite owning dozens of properties, he still fussed over a single officetel, debating whether to sell it or not.

Looking at him, Haewon was certain—his father would never go bankrupt.
It was that same relentless diligence that let him juggle multiple affairs and households. Most people wouldn’t bother with such exhausting pursuits out of sheer laziness, but his father threw himself into it with an almost obsessive dedication.
It was baffling.

And yet, watching him meticulously manage his assets, Haewon finally understood—his father enjoyed it.