The news broke just past sunrise.

“Chairman of Namtae Industries Collapses in Critical Condition – Heir Yet to Be Announced!”

The headline spread like wildfire, igniting every television screen, every business column, every online forum. Korea’s most powerful dynasty had been shaken at its roots.

In the towering glass headquarters of Namtae Industries, chaos swirled beneath the sleek surface. Behind polite nods and stiff suits, whispers filled the corridors. Executives gathered in corners, their voices hushed but urgent. Outside, journalists crowded the sidewalks, cameras flashing, desperate for a glimpse of the family that commanded a corporate empire.

Chairman Kim Joon-ho, the empire’s iron-willed founder, had collapsed in his private residence. His condition was critical, his return uncertain. He had built Namtae from a modest textile shop into a sprawling conglomerate — hotels, luxury resorts, retail giants, food chains, shipping routes, and global exports. For half a century, his word had been law. Now the throne stood empty.

Three tense days later, a private board meeting was called. The decision was swift.

Kim Do-hyun, the elder son, was declared Acting Chairman.

Stern, efficient, and calculating, Do-hyun had long been the shadow commander of Namtae’s key divisions. For two decades he had waited in disciplined silence, building his reputation as the natural successor. When he bowed before the press, his voice steady and rehearsed, cameras flashed in a frenzy.

“I am humbled by the trust placed in me. I will serve Namtae with integrity and vision until my father recovers.”

Behind him stood his younger brother, Kim Jae-hyun — expression unreadable, hands clasped loosely. Unlike his elder brother, Jae-hyun had never chased power. He was known as thoughtful, calm, almost detached from the empire’s hunger. And yet… the surprise came when the numbers were revealed.

Upon Chairman Joon-ho’s collapse, his shares had been distributed. Do-hyun, naturally, held the majority — 40%. Jae-hyun, unexpectedly, was entrusted with 25%, raising murmurs among the board. But what shocked everyone most was the revelation that 10% of the empire’s shares were transferred to Ji-woo — Jae-hyun’s eighteen-year-old son.

A murmur rippled through the boardroom. Some shareholders exchanged sharp looks, others concealed their shock behind polite coughs. Ji-woo had never held a position in the company, yet he now wielded more influence on paper than veteran directors who had given decades of service.

The vote that followed was ceremonial. Unanimous. No one opposed Do-hyun’s appointment. His authority was absolute, and Jae-hyun himself bowed in approval. He was content — relieved, even. For him, power had never been the prize.

But not everyone was pleased.

The press conference that followed was carefully staged. Flashbulbs lit the sleek auditorium as Do-hyun was introduced as Chairman. Positions were announced. Jae-hyun, entrusted with overseeing several critical subsidiaries, accepted with quiet grace. Do Hyun’s Wife “Yoon Ha-eun” was given stewardship of the Namtae Foundation, alongside 3% shares of her own. Shareholders clapped, the air thick with the illusion of unity.

But one man’s absence was glaring.

Yoon Tae-gon.

Ha-eun’s younger brother. Do-hyun’s brother-in-law. The man who had served Namtae faithfully since his youth.

He was nowhere to be seen.

While the press clapped politely in Namtae Tower, Tae-gon sat slumped in a dim place at his old home where he had grown up with his noona. He would travel here whenever he feels sad. But this time he felt betrayed.

On the old television in the corner, the press conference played. The camera panned across Do-hyun, Jae-hyun, their sister… and finally Ji-woo. Dust clung to the shelves, the air stale. The fluorescent light above him flickered and buzzed, as if mocking his mood..

Tae-gon’s jaw clenched so tight his teeth ached.

He reached for the remote and muted the sound. The sudden silence felt heavier than the buzzing bulb.

“Unbelievable…” he muttered, his voice low and bitter. “After everything I did. After everything I gave.”

His reflection glared back at him from the darkened TV screen — a man in his forties with tired eyes, a suit that had seen better days, and resentment carved into every line of his face.

He had devoted years to the Kim family. He wasn’t just an employee — he was family, bound through his sister Ha-eun’s marriage to Do-hyun. When Do-hyun had been a spoiled, reckless heir, it was Tae-gon who had reined him in, guided him, whispered strategy in his ear. When the young heir faltered, it was Tae-gon who had worked behind the scenes, managing crises, calming directors, smoothing over chaos.

And yet…

While others were promoted to oversee glittering divisions — resorts, real estate, construction — Tae-gon had been left with scraps. A decaying department store branch. A token director’s seat at the main office, indistinguishable from those handed to employees who had merely clocked in for twenty years.

The insult cut deep.

He remembered the snickers in the shareholder meeting, the whispers he overheard in the bathroom.

“He really thought being Do-hyun’s brother-in-law meant something.”
“Poor fool. Still stuck as a director. Same rank as us.”
“Didn’t he used to think he was special?”

The words echoed in his skull like hammer blows.

Yes, he owned shares — 7% quietly bought in secret through shell accounts, even hidden from Do-hyun and Ha-eun. He had imagined a day when those shares would give him leverage, when he would rise alongside his friend and brother-in-law. Perhaps even surpass him.

But now?

Now he was an afterthought.

His eyes returned to the screen. The camera lingered on Ji-woo, handsome and aloof, his youthful face calm despite the storm of attention.

Tae-gon’s stomach churned with rage.

Ji-woo.

Not even blood of the Kim line. The son of a widow Jae-hyun had taken in. A boy who had done nothing, achieved nothing, and yet held 10% of Namtae in his hands. More than him.

It was intolerable.

Tae-gon’s gaze fell on a photograph on his desk. A younger Do-hyun, smiling, an arm thrown over Tae-gon’s shoulder. Ha-eun beside them, radiant with youth. The three of them — inseparable once, back when ambition had tasted sweet and the future had seemed within reach.

With a growl, Tae-gon snatched up the frame. His hand trembled as he stared at their smiling faces, mocking him. Then, with a furious cry, he hurled it against the wall. Glass shattered. The photo curled inward, bent and broken.

His chest heaved, breath ragged.

“How could you do this to me, Do-hyun?” he spat, pacing the cramped office like a caged beast. “After everything I’ve done for you. For her. For this family.”

Every name dripped with venom.

Jae-hyun. That bastard who had walked away from the empire for a woman, only to return and claim a quarter of it.

Ji-woo. That illegitimate brat, holding more power than him by sheer chance of adoption.

And Do-hyun. The man he had trusted, the man he had made into a leader — now betraying him, treating him no better than an ordinary employee.

His resentment twisted into something darker, sharper. Not just anger. Not just envy.

A plan.

If he could not rise through loyalty, he would rise through calculation.

He still had his shares. He still had his mind. And he still had years of buried bitterness to fuel him.

“Enjoy your throne, all of you,” Tae-gon hissed into the empty room, his voice trembling with venom. “The old fox who divided his empire, Do-hyun who treats me like nothing, Jae-hyun who abandoned the family only to return to power, and that brat Ji-woo who dares hold shares above me… Laugh while you can. When I make my move, every last one of you will fall.”

The fluorescent light flickered once more.

And in that dim, buzzing office, Yoon Tae-gon’s anger began to take shape.