"Spokesperson Baek Saeon’s approval rating is plumting in real-ti due to the scandal—!"
"Spokesperson Baek, can you comnt on the affair allegations? Is your silence an implicit admission?"
"Spokesperson Baek! Over here, please!"
"Hurry up and get the shot!"
Baek Saeon pushed through the swarm of reporters that descended on him like wasps, making his way into the Baek Jangho morial Hall.
The flood of calls from his parents remained unanswered.
As he moved deeper into the building, the noise outside faded into silence.
"Everything is ready," said Park Do-jae, his aide, who had quietly fallen in step beside him and was now holding out an earpiece.
"We’ll give you instructions as needed from our side—uh… is sothing wrong?"
When Baek Saeon didn’t imdiately take the earpiece and simply stared at him, Park tilted his head in confusion.
With a faint smirk, Baek Saeon finally placed the earpiece in his ear.
"Do-jae, back in our university days, you were always around—classes I attended, academic conferences, extracurriculars, anything in my orbit."
Park Do-jae’s eyes widened slightly. It wasn’t like Baek Saeon to address him so informally.
"Do you know why I brought you on as my aide?"
"…"
"It’s because I wanted control. Even over what happens behind my back."
Park’s expression hardened, though he tried to keep his composure.
Baek Saeon casually adjusted his suit, running a hand over his cuff and tie.
"Leave this to . Go to the screening room and manage the reporters there. While you’re at it, watch the Baek Jangho docuntary."
"…What?"
"You’ve done well. Consider this your last task."
Without waiting for a response, Baek Saeon ascended the steps to the podium.
Park clenched his fists tightly, glaring after him, before turning and leaving the hall.
Today was the day of the special screening of a docuntary commorating the late Baek Jangho.
It was the first public showing of a film docunting his achievents, a significant event ant to honor his legacy.
But Baek Saeon had deliberately scheduled his press conference to overlap with the screening, drawing reporters from the politics, society, and culture desks into one chaotic mass.
"—He’s here! The spokesperson is here!"
Flashes of light from countless caras exploded in bursts, but his expression remained calm, almost indifferent.
His thoughts, however, lingered on Heeju’s room, where his mind had wandered just before stepping onto the podium.
His throat bobbed faintly as he pushed the mories aside.
"Spokesperson Baek!"
"Address the affair allegations imdiately!"
"Who was the woman in the explicit phone call? Can you confirm her identity?"
"The audio didn’t reveal her voice—do you have the original recording?"
The cacophony of questions continued unabated, but his focus strayed to thoughts of Heeju.
He prayed she wouldn’t be hurt.
If anything endangered her—even if it was his own na—he wouldn’t let it go unchecked.
Now, it was ti to uproot an old, lingering fear.
As he grasped the microphone, ready to address the reporters, a voice ca through his earpiece.
"Can you hear ?"
"…!"
A cold, unfamiliar voice.
He recognized it imdiately but maintained his composure as he began his opening remarks.
"Good afternoon. I am Baek Saeon."
"It’s ," the voice sneered. "It’s been a while, hasn’t it? How have you been?"
The voice from the earpiece—the unaltered voice of the man from the first phone call before the voice modulation began.
The voice of the real Baek Saeon.
"You look great. ? My life’s been absolute shit."
When Baek Saeon reached to remove the earpiece, the voice barked louder.
"Take that out, and I’ll rip Heeju apart."
He paused.
He’s watching.
"You remove it, and I’ll make sure she dies in pieces."
You bastard.
Baek Saeon clenched his jaw so tightly it felt like his teeth might crack.
This was the true nature of the late Baek Jangho’s real grandson.
The boy who, at the age of four, had killed and dissected a cat with chilling precision. Baek Jangho had been the one to find him, his small hands stained with blood, staring at them with a spellbound expression.
"I’ve always liked playing with things that are pitiful and cute," the voice taunted.
"…"
"Just like Heeju. She’s perfect, isn’t she?"
Even such horrific words were delivered with a mocking lilt, his tone disturbingly casual.
"I’ll scrub every trace of you off my na," he hissed. "But Heeju, the woman still alive and parading around as Mrs. Baek Saeon, she’s in my way. I’m starting fresh!"
Baek Saeon’s lower eyelid twitched uncontrollably.
"So don’t take out the earpiece."
"…"
"You’ll do as I say."
The tie around his neck felt suffocating. He loosened it slightly, trying to breathe.
"You’ll admit to everything right here. Confess to your sins and step aside."
If he didn’t deal with this man, Heeju would remain a target forever.
"Speak in front of everyone."
"…"
"Tell them who you really are."
The real Baek Saeon’s voice grew more agitated, his excitent seeping through.
But despite the tension, Baek Saeon allowed himself the faintest of smiles.
Sorry, but today, the na Baek Saeon ends.
For good.
"No one will ever use that na so carelessly again."
"Once your reputation is in the gutter, the na will be mine again," the voice crowed.
At last, the two switched identities stood face-to-face.
***
The first ti he saw Baek Jangho, his hair white with age, was when he was twelve years old, living quietly with his reserved father.
The boy was naless, born from the water. His father was a fisherman, and their shabby hut stood near the fishing grounds.
A place saturated with the sll of fish.
The Misty Morning Lake.
His father spent each day cleaning fishing rods, threading wriggling worms onto hooks in a monotonous cycle.
Their fishing spot had only one visitor: Representative Baek Jangho.
Whenever Baek ca, he scrutinized the boy's body and face, assessing how much he had grown.
Though Baek’s face was a practiced mask of indifference, the boy, naturally perceptive, could sense the satisfaction and discomfort lurking beneath the surface.
At first, he didn’t understand what it ant.
Nevertheless, his father always bowed deeply to Baek, even taking him out on a small boat to distant waters.
“Father, what are you throwing away with that man?”
“…!”
Startled by the quiet question, his father turned to him.
“I saw it,” the boy added. “I saw you throw sothing into the river.”
“Don’t ask questions.”
“But, Father—”
“I told you not to call that. I’m not your father.”
“…”
His father continued threading worms onto the hook, his movents chanical.
I guess I’ll just grow up to be a fisherman too.
Even if he was a discarded child, his life seed destined to mirror the man he called father.
He imagined himself with a scruffy beard, a stocky fra, and the sa monotonous routine of baiting hooks with worms.
One day, Baek Jangho brought along an older elentary school boy.
“This is my grandson,” Baek announced.
The boy was around the sa age as him, his face alight with excitent, a wide grin stretched across his features.
“I’ll steer the boat myself. Just lend one.”
His father bowed without a word, as always.
As the boat sliced through the water, the boy ran along the lakeshore.
The lake was circular, its pathways predictable no matter how far the boat ventured.
Splash!
Sure enough, he witnessed a large bag sinking to the bottom of the river. The heavy bag never resurfaced.
Did they weigh it down with stones?
From then on, Baek and his grandson returned every weekend.
And each ti, they tossed another weighty bag into the water.
The grandson was always grinning ear to ear, while Baek’s expression grew darker with each visit.
The boy gradually grew accustod to their strange ritual.
One night, close to midnight, he was jolted awake.
The air was filled with the thrashing sound of sothing massive struggling against the water. The noise reverberated in the still night, an unsettling rhythm.
Frowning, the boy grabbed a flashlight and ventured outside.
The darkness was impenetrable. Even the water was a deep, inky black.
By the shore, soone stood silhouetted against the lake.
Grandfather?
He wondered if the man was trying to catch fish with his bare hands.
But as he approached, the flashlight slipped from his grip, clattering onto the gravel.
“...!”
Baek Jangho turned, his eyes bloodshot.
His usually tidy white hair was disheveled, his pants soaked to the knees, and his sleeves drenched past the elbows.
“What… what are you doing?”
“Stay back,” Baek growled, his breath labored.
Beneath him, the boy could see it now—Baek’s grandson, the perpetually grinning boy, flailing in the water.
The horrifying scene finally clicked.
“What are you doing!”
Panicking, the boy rushed forward, grabbing Baek’s sturdy legs to stop him.
But Baek Jangho pushed the boy deeper into the water, ignoring his protests.
“Stop! Please stop!”
“Don’t interfere!” Baek roared, his voice raw and wild. His eyes were unhinged, possessed by a terrible fervor.
“This monster… this monster must be dealt with here…!”
“...!”
“It’s the only way to save everyone!”
Despite his advanced age, Baek was shockingly strong, forcing his grandson further under the water with unrelenting determination.
The boy scratched at Baek’s arms, screaming for the man he called father, but no light flickered on in the shabby hut.
The thrashing sounds gradually subsided.
“…”
“…”
A suffocating stillness blanketed the lake.
The boy stared at Baek in disbelief, paralyzed by the horror of what he had witnessed.
Baek Jangho, unmoved, watched the body of his grandson drift slowly with the current before turning his back on him without hesitation.
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