At the straightforward question, the chairman’s throat tightened.

“That’s something you should ask the person I killed. I merely suggested nailing another stake into someone who already had no hope of survival.”

The chairman showed no signs of remorse. While Kijoo seemed unaffected, Eunchae was different. She trembled, staring at the chairman as if he were a monster.

“How… How can you be so conscienceless? Are you even human?”

Chairman Song Myunghwan chuckled. He didn’t bother meeting Eunchae’s reproachful gaze.

“Confess.”

Her voice, saying those words, remained calm. Whether it was a trigger or not, the chairman, in his aging body, suddenly stood up.

“I have no sins! What confessing! You, thoroughly enchanted by a man!”

Yet, he had spent decades building an external image.

Would he reflect even a bit when those years crumbled in an instant?

Enduring those times while observing the collapse, Eunchae found it agonizing and despairing.

“I will report you. I will expose everything through the media so that you can never escape from that mistake forever.”

The chairman, whose life was dedicated to crafting an external image, glared at Eunchae, who was exploiting his vulnerabilities.

With no evidence anyway, why was he so infuriated? It was like a puppy recklessly running around, unaware of the tiger it might face.

Biting back, the chairman turned his back on both of them, heading towards the bathroom. Kijoo glanced at Eunchae only once before following him into the bathroom.

“I’m not expecting anything like a confession. You don’t need to worry.”

“But your goal is revenge.”

Eunchae responded with a direct gaze. When Kijoo met her eyes with a narrowed look, she focused on him with determination.

“The revenge I wanted, it’s done.”

“Then what about Kwon Kijoo?”

Kijoo remained silent. Afterward, he spoke.

“That’s an old story now.”

Nonsense. Eunchae fixed her eyes firmly as if to say that. Just because time passes doesn’t mean the sin disappears, nor does it erase the harm caused.

People lost their lives due to Chairman Song Myunghwan’s actions.

Coming out of the bathroom, Eunchae addressed the chairman.

“Apologize.”

Making a demand that the other party wouldn’t hear, Eunchae swallowed her tears with difficulty. Kijoo looked down at her. Her determination not to back down was evident.

It was foolish, yet relieving.

Kijoo raised his lips sardonically, laughed mockingly, calling himself an arrogant bastard.
Meeting Song Eunchae made everything difficult. There was no end to the exhausting incidents and the struggle with women. When the balance tilted towards the woman’s side during the weighing of the incidents, he ran away.

He thought it would be over if he didn’t see her. During the time he couldn’t see her, he experienced a hell he hadn’t believed in, blaming a god he didn’t believe in. He had to go back, and he had to.

When you forget about me. I thought it would be easy then. Even that was arrogance.

When he stood in front of Song Eunchae again, he became anxious, seeing the completely indifferent woman as if she had forgotten everything. Like an annoying pest, the woman trampled on the wounds he received while clinging like a parasite.

What he thought was nothing was a delusion. Faced with the woman who refused to hear his explanation even after the truth was revealed, he nurtured a petty pride.

Was pushing someone away so easy?

Ironically, the one who had to push her away couldn’t do it and willingly stepped into the abyss. Yet, the woman shouting, “What is the truth?” remained.

If sincerity is important, why don’t you acknowledge sincerity?

In the end, can we not become us? Is it perpetually a one-way street? He felt frustrated.

Song Eunchae’s desperate and earnest words for Kwon Kijoo melted into a plea.

“Ha, if an apology is needed, I want to apologize to you.”

He was no longer curious about how Chairman Song Myunghwan would respond. Anyway, the Song Myunghwan gate was about to explode soon. Kijoo looked down at the chairman indifferently, as if he were looking at a transparent man.

“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have been fooled by that thief.”

The chairman clasped Eunchae’s hands, and tears welled up in his eyes. He mumbled something like that. Tears of a crocodile, they called it.

“I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

Trying to withdraw her hands that were about to be released, Eunchae felt the texture of paper in the chairman’s grip. Chairman Song Myunghwan seemed to want to convey something, deceiving her eyes. After contemplating, Eunchae clenched the paper in her hand and brushed off the chairman’s hand.

“Have you ever loved your mother?”

“If not, would I have gotten married?”

It wasn’t about money? Eunchae looked at the chairman, who seemed vulnerable, then turned her body away.

There was no sympathy for such a person.

Kijoo watched her go down the stairs and then looked up. Suddenly, he seemed immersed in apologizing to his father. It was an acting skill that could be at the level of an actor. Chairman Song Myunghwan, who had changed his expression, now had sharp eyes.