Chapter 3: Morning Visits

Kang Jiwoo walked down the long, sterile hallway of the VIP ward, his footsteps echoing against the tile floors. Reaching his father’s room, he pushed open the door, revealing a space filled with the steady beeps of medical equipment and the faint aroma of disinfectants. Kang Hyunsoo lay in bed, his frame looking small beneath the array of machinery surrounding him. Jiwoo sat on the chair beside the bed, taking his father’s hand in his own.“Dad,” he whispered softly, “how are you holding up?”

Kang Hyunsoo paused, taking a shallow breath before answering, his eyes meeting Jiwoo’s with a flicker of reassurance. “I’m holding up, son. Better now that you’re here.”

Kang Hyunsoo smiled weakly, his eyes clouded by fatigue and medication. “Jiwoo, my son,” he whispered, his breath shallow and labored. “I regret that fate has forced you to bear the weight of the Kang Group at such a tender age.”

Jiwoo squeezed his father’s hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll make sure the Kang Group continues to thrive.” He paused momentarily, searching for words to lighten the mood. “And I promise I won’t mess things up too badly.”

Kang Hyunsoo chuckled faintly, pleased by his son’s optimism. As he spoke, his gaze drifted away, lost in thought. “Jiwoo, success isn’t about avoiding failure. It’s about learning from failures and rising above them. Every setback is an opportunity to grow stronger and wiser.” He turned back to look at Jiwoo, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “Believe in yourself, son. You have the heart of a true leader.”

Jiwoo’s face lit up with joy as he heard his father speak. He leaned forward, placing his hand on top of his father’s, giving it a gentle squeeze. His voice trembled slightly, betraying the depth of his emotion.“Dad… hearing you say that means so much to me.”

As Kang Hyunsoo continued speaking, Jiwoo found himself overcome with a mixture of sadness and gratitude. Seeing his once-strong father reduced to a mere shadow of his former self broke his heart. He gently massaged his dad’s arm, hoping to bring some comfort to the frail body.“Dad, don’t worry about anything. I’ll handle everything.”

Kang Hyunsoo’s smile faltered, and he closed his eyes briefly, struggling against the exhaustion consuming him. Jiwoo watched anxiously, worried about the toll his illness was taking on his dad. He reached out, lightly tracing circles on his dad’s palm with his finger, offering silent reassurance.“Stay strong, Dad. Fight this.”

Kang Hyunsoo opened his eyes slowly, his gaze softening as it met Jiwoo’s. “You’ve grown up so well,” he murmured. “There were times I doubted myself as a father, but seeing the man you’ve become…” His voice trailed off, emotion catching in his throat. Jiwoo shook his head gently, giving his dad a small, affectionate smile.“You were never alone in this, Dad. And I’m who I am because of you.”

Jiwoo's words brought a faint glow to his father's cheeks, and Kang Hyunsoo's breathing seemed to ease ever so slightly. Noticing the shift, Jiwoo quietly scooted closer in his chair and wrapped his arms around his father's waist, pressing his cheek lightly against him. His touch was careful, almost reverent—like he feared even the smallest pressure might cause pain.

He stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, listening to the rhythm of his father's breathing. "You know..." he began softly, his voice low and steady, "I hope I make you proud every single day, Father."

Then, as if trying to chase away the heaviness in the air, Jiwoo tightened his arms around his father’s waist. He buried his face into his father’s side like a child holding onto something irreplaceable, letting the silence linger for a moment longer.

It was a side of Jiwoo that rarely surfaced—one he only ever showed to the people he was truly, deeply close to. This softness, this vulnerability, was something few ever got to witness.

“You’re going to be around for a long time, Dad,” Jiwoo said, his voice steady yet filled with an underlying tenderness. “I need you here to see me get it right… to watch me grow old, maybe even meet the grandkids. I swear, they’ll probably give you more headaches than I ever did, but that’s what family is for, right?”

Jiwoo held his breath for a beat, savoring the stillness, the warmth, the quiet comfort only a parent’s presence could offer. He inhaled deeply—his father’s scent, tinged with the sharpness of antiseptic and the faint earthiness of old cologne, grounded him.

As he exhaled, he spoke just above a whisper, the words gentle but unwavering.“I promise, Dad. I’ll find happiness… and when I do, I’ll share every bit of it with you.”

Kang Hyunsoo’s eyes softened as he looked down at Jiwoo, feeling the weight of the unspoken bond between them. His heart swelled with something close to pride and love, something that had been buried beneath years of worry and distance. He placed his hand gently on Jiwoo’s back, offering the comfort of a steady presence.“Jiwoo…” His voice was rough, but there was warmth in it, something that hadn’t been there in a long time. “You’ve already made me proud. Watching you grow, watching you become the man you are… that’s all I could ever ask for.”

Jiwoo’s arms tightened once more, and his father didn’t pull away, instead holding him just as tightly. The years of fatherly love, regret, and hope melded into the quiet, peaceful moment. There was no need for more words. In that simple, shared silence, they both understood everything.

“Just don’t make me wait too long for those grandkids, alright?” Kang Hyunsoo added, his voice softening to a teasing tone as he pulled Jiwoo slightly closer.

Jiwoo let out a quiet chuckle, the sound muffled against his father’s side. It wasn’t loud or forced—just a soft, genuine sound that carried warmth, almost like the echo of a child who still found safety there.“I’ll take care of it, Dad. Don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

With a reluctant sigh, Jiwoo disentangled himself from his father’s grasp, releasing the warm embrace they shared. He stood tall, straightening his suit jacket with a slow, practiced motion. His fingers brushed the creases from his sleeves as he glanced back at the hospital bed. His father was already drifting into light sleep again, the slow rhythm of his breath rising and falling in sync with the heart monitor’s steady beeps. The softness in Jiwoo’s gaze lingered only a second more.

“I’ll get going now, Dad. Take care of yourself,” he murmured quietly. “I’ll call when I’m free.”

He didn’t wait for a response—he didn’t need one. The room felt warmer than before. More peaceful.

Jiwoo turned, stepping toward the hallway, the hush of rubber-soled shoes on the tile blending with the faint hum of hospital life around him. By the time he reached the elevator, his expression had shifted, like a curtain drawing closed over a stage—serene, unreadable.

The cold morning air wrapped around him like silk as he exited the hospital. His car was already parked at the curb, the same sleek black sedan that had carried him from boardroom to boardroom countless times. The driver gave a small bow and opened the door without a word. Jiwoo slid inside.

The scent of leather and faint cologne greeted him, familiar and unchanging. As the car merged into traffic, Jiwoo leaned his head slightly against the seat’s cushion, eyes half-lidded but awake. He didn’t pull out his phone. He didn’t open a laptop. Instead, he watched the city slide past the window in silence.

The sun was just beginning to break past the taller buildings, casting streaks of orange and pale gold across the skyline. Vendors were setting up street stalls. Students hustled past in uniforms. A busker with a violin stood near an underpass, drawing out a low, haunting melody that filtered through the glass. Jiwoo’s mind drifted. Dad looked stronger today. His hands weren’t as cold… His fingers unconsciously curled slightly, as if remembering the texture of his father’s palm. Then the moment passed.

Kang Group headquarters greeted him with its usual rhythm—fast, clean, and clinical. His assistant, Ms. Choi, was waiting in the executive lobby, tablet in hand.“Morning schedule?” she asked.

“Board meeting at nine, press review rescheduled for Thursday. You have a call pending with the Seoul legal team, and we just received an urgent audit report from the brand division.”

“Push the call to noon. I’ll go over the audit during the drive to the media branch.”

Her eyes flicked up. “The media branch?”

Jiwoo gave a small nod. “It’s been a while. I’ll do a walk-through.”

She didn’t question it further. She knew better than to ask twice.

The board meeting proceeded with smooth precision. Reports on performance, upcoming projects, market trends. Jiwoo nodded at each, occasionally interjecting with questions too sharp, too specific to be anything but the result of deep familiarity.

“We’re behind on the ad contract renewals for Q2,” he said, eyes flicking to a marketing exec who suddenly paled. “See to it that it’s finalized by Friday. No exceptions.”

“Yes, Chairman Kang.”

“And I want the R&D update by noon today.”

“Yes, sir.”

By 10:15 AM, he was back in the car, headed toward the Kang Group Media Division. This building was different—glass panels curved like a wave, surrounded by a small courtyard with benches and a rooftop café. It was meant to encourage creativity. Flexibility. Chaos, to some extent. Jiwoo didn’t visit often. Just enough to remind people he might appear at any moment.

The car rolled to a smooth stop at the front entrance. Jiwoo stepped out; his polished shoes clicked against the entrance tiles as the sliding doors parted with a quiet whoosh.

Near the far side of the lobby, chaos unfolded. A young man—badge clipped to his lapel—juggled an overstuffed tote, a phone pinched between ear and shoulder, and a cardboard tray with two iced coffees. He made it three steps before disaster struck. The phone slipped. He lunged for it—but the tray tipped, the lid popped off, and cold coffee splashed across his shirt.

“Oh no—nonono—” he gasped, twisting sideways, trying to catch the tray—but his foot caught on the bag strap, and down he went with a thud, the tray clattering beside him.

He froze on the floor, one knee bent awkwardly, the phone wedged under his leg, coffee pooling around his elbow.

“Okay,” he muttered. “It’s fine. It’s not hot. Cold brew. It’s fine.”

He tried to reach for a napkin—but the tray slid under a bench. He rocked forward too far; his glasses slipped off. Then he hit his head on the edge of a plant pot trying to stand.

Jiwoo watched this… spectacle unfold with what could only be described as silent fascination. His expression was unreadable—eyes slightly wider than usual, the corner of his mouth lifted just a fraction.

Where did they find this one?

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***