Into The Thrill

Woojin stood up as if possessed.

"Uh...?" Jung Ho-myung blinked and watched him, startled.
Woojin walked straight toward the large wall screen that no one else was paying attention to. He came to a halt in front of it, the monitor taller than he was.
Haewon’s face filled the entire screen.

At that moment, the air seemed to gain weight, pressing down hard on Woojin’s shoulders.
His whole body felt as if all moisture had been drained out, crushed by some invisible force.
His mind emptied out in a flash, and his heart pounded in his chest.

His eyes stayed glued to the screen, to the image of Haewon now flooding his vision, his consciousness consumed.
Like a crashing wave, like a raging gust of wind—Haewon came rushing toward him.
The Haewon on the screen, playing the violin, overlapped with the man standing tall in front of him, radiating with that strikingly elegant height.

His breath caught.
His head spun.
Woojin’s fist clenched tight in the pocket of his pants.
It was the first realization.

It was his first love.
The broadcast of the Jeju International Wind Festival soon shifted to a legal information segment.
Woojin flinched like someone had smacked him on the back. He blinked at the screen where Haewon had disappeared. A lawyer and a judicial PR announcer had taken his place, explaining basic legal knowledge.

He stood there blankly for a while before slowly turning back around. Woojin returned to his seat and picked up his spoon.
"What was that about?"
"……."

Woojin gave no response, as if he hadn’t heard the question.
His chest and face were both burning up, and it took him a long time to return to himself. Like someone waking from a midsummer night’s dream, he wore a dazed expression and moved mechanically.
∞ ∞ ∞

"Ugh… I messed up a little."
"No one could tell. You were trying so hard. I was turning red in the face just watching you."
Seo Ok-hwa clapped her hands twice in admiration. A gesture of praise.

Max Bruch’s Violin Concerto No. 1 in G minor, Op. 26—the piece Haewon had once planned to perform for Kim Jung-geun at his villa, not knowing Woojin had summoned him—was now fully committed to memory from the first to the third movement.
Because the concertmaster, the original soloist for the concerto, had injured a finger on the hotel door, Haewon had ended up stepping in for the solo. He approached the performance with a blend of nervous energy and focused excitement.
Though he modestly claimed he’d made mistakes, in truth, Haewon was pleased with his own performance. It had been a long time since he’d immersed himself so passionately in a piece.

"You looked like the assistant concertmaster just waiting for the soloist to get injured."
"I only did it because you told the conductor to make me do it."
"Whether it was forced or voluntary—what matters is that you pulled it off."
Having returned from the U.S., Seo Ok-hwa ran her neatly cropped hair back with flair as she spoke. It was the confidence of someone who believed her judgment had been proven right.

Not merely the wife of a chaebol family, Seo Ok-hwa was a heavyweight in the classical music world in her own right.
Ordinarily, things like this would follow proper order, but thanks to her insistence, Haewon had ended up pressured into the solo in a slightly embarrassing way.
And yet, she’d been quietly worried he might mess it up. Fortunately, even by his own standards, it had gone well. The conductor had offered him sincere applause, clearly satisfied.

"If Haewon had performed in the last concert too, he would've gotten a lot more attention."
That came from Park Jong-hoon, who was seated at the same table.
Park Jong-hoon had brought his music students along to the festival. He seemed to be familiar with Seo Ok-hwa, and through a series of coincidences, they’d ended up having dinner together.

"Me? That violinist was way better than me."
"No. If you’d played, every seat would’ve been sold out."
"Why?"

"Because people go crazy over appearances."
At Park Jong-hoon’s words, Seo Ok-hwa, sipping wine, suddenly burst out laughing. She nearly spit out her drink and quickly covered her mouth with a napkin.
"Appearances?"

Haewon stared at him in disbelief. That was a hell of a thing to say.
"Ah, did that sound weird? I just meant that since you’ve got the visuals, the public would’ve loved it."
"Even the best visuals don’t matter if the performance is trash. Haewon plays well, which is why his looks shine even more."

Seo Ok-hwa gave Haewon a gentle pat on the back.
Even with her husband behind bars, Seo Ok-hwa had only grown thinner. She was still a chaebol wife, and the chairwoman of the HanKyung Arts Foundation.
"I’ve never been told I’m ugly, but that’s the first time someone’s called me a 'tempting shell.'"
"Haha, sorry—I just spoke my mind. I apologize if that was rude."

"It’s not something to apologize for. I actually went to that performance. Would’ve been nice to play, but it didn’t have to be me."
"Then will you be joining the next one?"
"Yes, if I have time."

"Professor Park, you’re still such an idealist."
Seo Ok-hwa topped off both Haewon’s and Park Jong-hoon’s glasses as she spoke.
Haewon carefully sipped his wine, trying to calm the excitement still lingering like residual heat.

With Seo Ok-hwa, access to music festivals was a free pass.
He could observe lessons by world-famous violinists and hear orchestral performances from the best seats in the house.
It made sense that Woojin would feel uncomfortable about Haewon being this close to Seo Ok-hwa. But outside of festival season, it wasn’t like they met separately. Seo Ok-hwa had said she’d be returning to the U.S. soon anyway.

Haewon hadn’t asked about Kim Jung-geun’s situation if he could avoid it, and Seo Ok-hwa hadn’t brought it up either. She simply attended official events. Her movements were cautious. She refused to answer any questions from reporters. Her bodyguards were the first line of defense against approaching media; her secretaries were the second.
Only once they were seated in the VIP room of a restaurant, safe from prying eyes, did Seo Ok-hwa show a sense of relief. Her usual assertive demeanor returned.
"Did your daughter go back to the U.S. too?"

"She got into grad school there. This place is a bit... well, you know."
"She must be good at English, then."
At Haewon’s remark, Seo Ok-hwa burst into incredulous laughter.

"Of course she is. English, French, Chinese—those are basic."
"Wow. Chaebols really are something else."
"And for what? My husband got sentenced to seven years. It wasn’t even worth that long. They just wanted to crush a disobedient chaebol. It’s all about squeezing money out of us."

She spoke as though they were innocent victims sacrificed to public opinion. Park Jong-hoon looked like he had something to say, but he only drank his wine.
Haewon, seeing that she’d brought it up first, asked something he’d been wondering.
"Then who’s running the company? If you’re in the U.S. too… is it a professional CEO?"

"Woojin will handle it."
"……You mean, Hyun Woojin sunbae?"
The name caught Haewon off guard. Woojin had always spoken as if he had no involvement with HanKyung, as if Kim Jung-geun’s arrest had nothing to do with him. But now it was clear—Woojin was still deeply tied to it.

"My husband gave Woojin full voting rights for his shares. Woojin’s managing the Strategy Office right now to keep the board in line. Honestly, I don’t know what we’d do without him. I didn’t get it at first—he even sold off affiliates to repay public funds—but now it makes sense. With the way things are going, maybe the Supreme Court will even reduce the sentence a little."
He was given full voting rights over all the shares?
Haewon didn’t quite understand. He didn’t ask further and simply nodded mechanically in response.

"Really? That’s good to hear."
At the mention of Woojin’s name, Park Jong-hoon tilted his head slightly. Perhaps considering it a private matter, he didn’t ask any questions.
"Anyway, your performance today was excellent."

Seo Ok-hwa praised Haewon brightly.
By the time the schedule ended and they returned to the hotel, it was already past nine in the evening.
Haewon showered and changed into comfortable clothes. Only then did he finally let out a breath and, out of habit, turned on the TV. Pressing channels at random, only the static texture of white noise appeared on the screen, with no signal.

Leaning against the headboard of the bed, Haewon stared at the blank television.
The solo performance he had been suddenly assigned had gone perfectly, and the dinner with Seo Ok-hwa and Park Jong-hoon had been splendid as well.
High-quality food, high-quality wine, high-quality music.

Seo Ok-hwa and Park Jong-hoon were masters of conversation who, even without Haewon’s effort, naturally drew him into the center of the dialogue.
It had been a fulfilling day, and the night that followed should have felt rewarding and light—but a heaviness lingered in one corner of his chest.
"……"

Something felt off.
There was no longer any ambition left in HanKyung Group for Woojin to achieve.
Choi-sunbae had once described him as a vulgar, bookish striver reeking of ink, but after his fiancée had left him, there was nothing left for him to accomplish. And what Haewon had thought was another of Woojin’s ambitions—his relationship with Kim Soyoung—had been a terrible misunderstanding on Haewon’s part. In fact, it was Woojin who rejected Kim Soyoung, who liked him, and taught her right from wrong.

"Those highly educated smart ones are always the most vulgar," said Choi-sunbae, who ended up in prison because of it.
There °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° was nothing left for Woojin to achieve in HanKyung, and yet, according to Seo Ok-hwa, he had already achieved everything.
Kim Jung-geun had transferred his voting rights to him, and Woojin had filled his vacant position. He was the one operating the strategic planning office—essentially the core of the group—giving orders to repay the public funds.

Haewon had wondered why Woojin was always so busy. Now he understood.
Of course he was busy. Working as a prosecutor, running a company, taking down bad guys, dating him—he’d need ten bodies to handle it all.
There was nothing left to accomplish, and yet Woojin had accomplished everything.

He had everything.
Even the things he seemed not to covet, he ended up possessing.
He never seemed to intend anything, but everything ended up going exactly as he intended.

To possess something usually requires enduring the resistance of submission. And yet, the fact that he had gained such tremendous ownership so naturally and smoothly was astonishing.
Haewon was once again struck by the realization that Woojin was not an ordinary human being.
"Well... he did memorize that entire book. Of course he’s not normal."

Staring at the gray texture on the screen, Haewon muttered to himself.
It felt like it didn’t make sense—but it did.
Only then did the static noise finally reach his ears. Haewon turned off the TV with the remote. The room fell silent once more.

His phone, which had been off during the performance, had run out of battery. He plugged it into the charger and turned it on. Suddenly, an onslaught of loud alerts came from the phone.
Calls and messages poured in. His father, his stepmother, and numerous unknown numbers had all tried to reach him.
As he checked the messages, confused, Haewon furrowed his brows with an "Eh?"

It seemed today’s performance had been aired briefly on a cultural news segment. Even Ponytail, whom he’d lost contact with after a brief exchange, had sent a message.
[It’s me, the pork belly place noona. You were a violinist?!! I thought you were a scammer. Noona will buy you meat. Let’s get pork belly. I’ll forgive you for almost getting me arrested last time, so forget about it.]
[Director Kim here. Is your phone off? I saw the broadcast. Still haven’t checked the email I sent last time. Listen to it and get back to me. I’m waiting.]

[Mr. Moon Haewon, I saw you on TV. It was moving. Please contact me when you have time.]
[Haewon, it’s me, Sooyoung. Remember me?]
Messages from people he couldn’t even identify kept flooding in. Haewon stopped checking them one by one.

The broadcast’s impact was surprisingly far-reaching.
Taking the opportunity, he organized his contacts, which he hadn’t saved since Woojin had smashed his old phone.
He saved Ponytail as “Pork Belly Ponytail.” He considered saving Kim Jaemin as “Director Kim Jaemin” but stopped, thinking Woojin might call him and tell him not to contact him again.

In the middle of all that, the fact that there had been no message from Woojin left him feeling a bit disappointed. Still, considering how busy he was managing a company, doing prosecutor work, and more, there was no way he would’ve had time to watch the broadcast—so Haewon decided to let it go.
While searching for today’s broadcast on his phone, the doorbell rang, making him jump and turn his head.
He ran a hand through his damp hair and got up. Slipping on his slippers, he walked to the door. Without checking the peephole, he opened it, asking, “Who is it?”

He assumed it was the concertmaster coming to inform him of tomorrow’s schedule, or one of the quartet members from the floor below, who was originally supposed to room with him.
"……."
"Hi."

The person standing at the door was neither the concertmaster nor a quartet member.
It was Woojin.
Haewon stared at him with wide eyes, startled.

It seemed he had flown down as soon as he finished work—he wasn’t dressed as neatly as usual. His tie was slightly loosened, the button on his jacket undone, giving the impression he had rushed here as if being chased by something. He wasn’t carrying a single bag.
"What’s going on?"
"……."

Woojin just looked at Haewon in silence, not answering his startled question.
As Haewon opened his mouth to ask what on earth was going on, Woojin’s hand grabbed his cheek and crushed their lips together. Haewon stepped back in surprise. Woojin stepped forward, and the door closed behind him on its own.
Cupping Haewon’s face with both hands, Woojin sucked at his plump lips.

"Mmph…!"
Haewon’s upper body wavered as he was pushed backward. Woojin’s tongue thrust in, swirling all the way to the root, sucking down saliva as he embraced Haewon’s waist, which couldn’t resist. With their lips still locked, Woojin lifted Haewon and carried him to the bed.
Overwhelmed by his strength, Haewon’s body collapsed onto the bed. Straddling his legs, Woojin’s pelvis pressed down aggressively on Haewon’s lower half, grinding into him. The more their bodies rubbed together below, the hotter Woojin’s lips became as they devoured Haewon whole. He was a bulldozer. Each time Woojin’s hips moved with a twist, Haewon let out a pained moan.

"Uh… mmn…"
While their lips melted into each other and Haewon’s sensitive inner mouth flushed hot, Woojin’s large hand slipped under his shirt, pulling it up to his chest.
Haewon’s consciousness and body collapsed just as Woojin stirred them. He felt like all the strength was draining from his body—his mind went hazy.

"Haa… ahn… mm… hhup."
Matching the wet kisses, Haewon bit back, sucking on the soft flesh so hard that sounds like chup, chup filled the room. One hand clutched Woojin’s hair and slid down his nape. Breaths caught up to his chin came spilling out in gasps.
"Haa."

Their lips parted with a sticky sound. Woojin’s tongue uncoiled, and Haewon’s mouth, left agape, trembled faintly.
Woojin, aroused, leaned in again with hazy, darkened eyes, about to press their lips together once more—when suddenly, the doorbell rang.
Haewon pushed against Woojin’s shoulder as he came closer. Their ragged breaths poured out between them as they looked at each other.

"What the hell?"
The intense heat that had boiled over abruptly fizzled out.
Furious at the interruption, Woojin scowled and turned his gaze toward the door. The look on his face suggested he was ready to commit murder if given the chance. Unconsciously, Haewon hurriedly grabbed the hem of his clothes.

"Are you expecting someone?"
"Probably the massage I ordered."