The days blurred into a repetitive cycle of work and fleeting moments of peace, but through it all, Saejoon kept one promise—Hana would not be left alone. Even as he buried himself deeper in the responsibilities of the Shin Group, he made sure to carve out a space for her in the grand office that had once been his father’s, now his own.

A New Routine

Every morning, Saejoon would rise early, the faint light of dawn breaking through the tall windows of his office. He had long since learned to manage his pain and fatigue, pushing them to the background as he worked. His wheelchair, which had once been a source of humiliation and resentment, had become a constant companion. His world had shrunk to these walls—walls of glass and marble, of cold, unforgiving luxury.

But Hana was still there.

She didn’t speak much about the accident or their parents; she seemed to understand that the topic was off-limits for now. Instead, she kept herself busy, drawing in the corner of the office or reading from her pile of books—simple, colorful tales meant for children her age. She found comfort in their simplicity, the adventures of talking animals, faraway kingdoms, and brave heroes. For a brief moment, the weight of their circumstances lifted as her small voice would occasionally break the silence, reciting a line or two from her book, or asking questions about the characters in her drawings.

Saejoon would glance up from his reports, meeting her wide, innocent eyes for just a second before returning to the endless parade of numbers, signatures, and decisions that needed to be made. He had no choice but to focus on the business—his parents’ legacy, the responsibility to protect the Shin Group from those who would exploit it. But in these moments, with Hana by his side, the sense of loss wasn’t as suffocating.

The Chairman's Office: A Shared Space

As weeks passed, Hana began to see Saejoon’s office as her own space too. She would place her books on the large, polished desk, shifting them around so they were neatly organized, though Saejoon would never say anything about it. Occasionally, she would sit in his chair—tiny in comparison to his, her feet barely grazing the floor—and pretend to hold a meeting, mimicking what she saw him do.

Saejoon would smile faintly, his eyes softening at the sight. It was a rare thing—a reminder that despite everything, Hana was still just a child. She still had the lightness of spirit, the innocence that hadn’t yet been crushed by the weight of their reality.

Sometimes, she would sit on the floor next to him, her sketchbook resting on her lap as she drew images of their parents, of the old house, or of fanciful creatures she invented. Saejoon would glance over, distracted for a moment by the purity of her imagination.

"Oppa, can I show you my drawing?" she would ask quietly, holding up her book with a hopeful expression.

Saejoon would pause his work, his gaze shifting to the page, and for a moment, the world outside that office—everything he was carrying—would fade into the background. Hana’s drawings, simple as they were, carried a kind of healing power. They were a glimpse of the world they had lost, of the days before everything had changed.

“It's beautiful, Hana,” he would say, offering her a gentle smile. He didn’t often show her his emotions—didn’t think it was necessary. But Hana needed him, and in some way, this quiet understanding, this shared space, was enough.

Loneliness in the Chairman's Seat

Despite Hana’s presence, Saejoon felt the loneliness of being in charge. The weight of the Shin Group was heavier than he had ever imagined. Every meeting was a reminder of his inexperience, and the decisions he was forced to make seemed to chip away at the small remaining part of himself that wasn’t consumed by duty. But the moment Hana entered his office, it was as though the walls softened a little.

“Oppa, do you think I’ll be a good artist one day?” she asked one afternoon, her eyes bright with curiosity as she looked up from her coloring book.

Saejoon glanced at her, pausing in the midst of signing a particularly complex financial statement. He didn’t often entertain questions like this, but for once, he put the paperwork down and focused entirely on her.

“Of course,” he replied simply. “You’ll be better than anyone else.”

Her eyes lit up, and she smiled, her small face glowing with the unspoken reassurance that for now, at least, she had Saejoon to turn to.

And despite everything, Saejoon was reminded that perhaps he could still be something more—someone who could still be present, someone who could still offer Hana a semblance of the stability she needed.

The Unseen Struggle

It wasn’t easy, and some days felt more difficult than others. There were moments when Saejoon’s pain flared up, his legs aching as he tried to work for hours on end, too proud to ask for help. But when Hana was there, he pushed through, not wanting her to see his struggle.

Saejoon didn’t let anyone else in on these moments—didn’t let anyone know how hard it was to get up from his desk, how sometimes, his body felt like it was failing him again. He couldn’t afford to show weakness, not when everything depended on him. But when Hana was there, sitting quietly, reading her books or drawing, something in him shifted.

He didn’t have to hide it all. He didn’t have to carry the burden alone—at least not when it came to her.

The Silent Connection

As Saejoon and Hana spent more time together, an unspoken bond formed between them. There were no words needed to convey their feelings. Hana, though she didn’t fully understand the gravity of their situation, knew that her brother was doing his best. And Saejoon, despite his own demons, knew that Hana needed him—needed him to be strong for her, to help her through the confusion of losing their parents while still trying to find their place in a world that no longer made sense.

Even in silence, they found comfort in each other’s presence. And as Saejoon worked tirelessly through the nights, trying to learn, trying to understand the intricacies of the company, he couldn’t help but wonder if, in some strange way, Hana was saving him as much as he was saving her.

And so, as they shared those quiet moments in his office, surrounded by the weight of their world, Saejoon realized that no matter how much time passed, no matter how much pressure he faced, he wasn’t truly alone—not with Hana by his side.