Episode 2: fifteen minutes

Samil University Hospital smelled like antiseptic and too many bad memories.

I had barely parked my car when my legs betrayed me—jogging, then running toward the entrance like I could somehow outrun the sinking feeling in my chest. My palms were slick with sweat, despite the freezing AC blasting from both my car and the hospital vents.

Why was I nervous? This wasn’t supposed to shake me. I hated them—didn’t I?

I slammed my hands onto the reception desk, breathless.

“Excuse me. I got a call… Someone from this number—”

The nurse blinked at me, calm and clinical. “Your name, ma’am?”

“Yoo Ra-yeon.”

Her fingers tapped across the keyboard. “Yes. Mr. Yoo Dae-gun. He was brought in under critical condition. The surgery scheduled for next month… it’s happening now.”

I froze. “Now?”

She nodded. “He insisted on seeing you before the procedure. Specifically requested you.”

My heart did something strange. Twisted? Sank? Whatever it was—it hurt.

I should’ve called him. I should’ve answered. I should’ve just said something.

I hated them. I’ve always hated them. But right then, in that too-white lobby, a single tear slipped from my eye before I could stop it.

I wiped it away quickly. “What room?”

“421.”

I didn’t wait for more. I took off down the hallway, my sneakers echoing across polished floors like drumbeats.

I didn’t knock.

The door swung open—and I froze.

A doctor stood by the bed, injecting something into the IV line. My grandfather lay still, an oxygen mask strapped to his face, monitors beeping steadily beside him.

“You have fifteen minutes,” the doctor said, glancing at his watch. “After that, we’ll be moving him to the ICU.”

I nodded.

When the door closed, I didn’t sit in the fancy chair beside his bed. I dropped to my knees. Somehow that felt more honest.

His hand reached out—bony, weak, but warm. It wrapped around mine like it had been waiting.

“It’s me,” I whispered, unsure why my voice cracked. “Grandpa.”

“Aigoo… aigoo… who is crying?” he rasped, struggling to speak.

I bit my lip. “I’m not crying. You're hallucinating.”

He gave a breathy chuckle. “Still so sharp. Just like your mother.”

At the mention of her, something inside me cracked wider.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I should’ve… I don’t know. Called? Visited? Anything.”

“Why would you be sorry?” he murmured. “It’s me. I should’ve… I should’ve done more. Protected you. Treated you better.”

His hand squeezed mine. “You’re beautiful. Strong. My Ra-yeon.”

A sob rose in my throat, but I choked it back.

“You did well. In everything. Even when I didn’t support you. Better than Min-jae ever was.”

He smiled—barely. But it was there.

And that’s when I knew.

He thought this might be the last time.

A knock at the door pulled me back to reality. A nurse.

“I think I should go now,” I said, standing. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he simply nodded, eyes filled with something I couldn’t name.

I left the room slowly. Quietly. Like if I made too much noise, it would make it real.

Then I sat on the bench outside and cried.

Ugly, chest-heaving tears. The kind you only let out when no one’s watching. The kind you convince yourself you don’t feel, until they break out of you like a flood.

I had always told myself I didn’t need a family.

I had survived without their love. Without their validation. I worked my ass off for years to prove I didn’t need them.

But now?

Now, I wanted him to live. Just for a little longer.

So he could see me take over his company with pride, not bitterness.

So he could see me—not Yoo Min-jae’s shadow. Not some forgotten child.

Me.

A sudden shift on the bench made me look up.

The doctor from earlier sat beside me, posture straight, eyes solemn. “Your grandfather’s been moved to the ICU. Surgery begins as soon as the president arrives.”

“Yeah,” I said hoarsely. “My dad and stepmom are probably on their way.”

He nodded, then hesitated—like he didn’t want to say the next part.

“It’s an open-heart procedure. Aortic valve replacement. At his age… with his history…” He paused, choosing his words. “There’s a significant risk. Even with advanced monitoring, his chances of surviving are… less than thirty percent.”

Thirty percent.

That number lodged itself in my throat like a stone.

I nodded numbly, unsure what else to do. He looked at me—too kindly, too gently. Was it sympathy? Pity?

I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t care.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor.

I didn’t need to look to know who it was.

Yoo Min-jae. My father.

Flanked by his perfectly composed wife, Shin Min-ah. They didn’t even glance at me as they passed. Just swept forward like a wind too cold to touch.

My father paused, eyes on the operating room doors. “You have a new project with Taesung Group,” he said. “You should head home. Review the proposal.”

I blinked.

That’s all?

No mention of Grandpa. No are you okay, no how are you holding up.

Just work.

I gave him a look and rolled my eyes. “Noted, sir,” I muttered, walking away before I said something I’d regret.

I made it to the parking lot, my heart still tangled up in my ribs.

As I slid into my car, a flash of movement caught my eye.

Another car had just pulled up. Deep navy, glossy, and clearly expensive.

The door opened—and out stepped Yoo Si-ah.

Perfect as always. Impeccable hair. Elegant blouse.

Beside her?

Chairman Kang Ji-hoon. CEO of Daejin Group.

My brows furrowed. Why the hell is he here?

Rival company. Rival bloodline.

My fingers curled around the steering wheel.

Something about that pairing made my stomach twist.

But not today.

Not now.

I started the engine, pushed every emotion deep inside me, and drove home.

Tonight, I wouldn’t cry.

Tomorrow… I might start a war.

The next morning, the first thing I did—before even rolling fully out of bed—was check my phone.

No messages.

No updates.

Just a dry notification center and a silent screen. Nothing about Grandpa.

I sighed, rubbing my eyes. Should I go check on him? But then I remembered the meeting—ugh. Let me survive that first.

I stretched lazily, letting out a dramatic groan… until my eyes caught the time.

8:32 a.m.

What the actual hell?!

“Sht, sht, sh*t—!” I scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over my own feet as I bolted to the bathroom. Mr. Han was going to roast me alive. He hated tardiness more than he hated my casual outfits—which was saying something.

Showering in record time, I stepped out with water still dripping from my hair. I wrapped myself in a towel, practically wrestling with my closet before yanking out a wrinkled white shirt and loose blue baggy jeans. No time to iron. No time to regret my life choices.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

Ra-yeon, you look like a tired intern. But let’s pretend it’s a look.

I tried to tame my wolf-cut hair into a bun, which turned into a tug-of-war with an invisible force of chaos. I finally gave up halfway, letting the strands fall as they pleased.

“Whatever. If Mr. Han says anything, I’ll just say it’s 'Gen Z chic.'”

I tossed on my glasses, grabbed my laptop bag and sneakers, and bolted out the door like I was fleeing the law.

Just as I was two turns away from the office building, my phone rang.

President Yoo.

My father.

Ugh.

I tapped the Bluetooth.

“Hello?”

His voice came through cold and precise. “He’s still unconscious. Doctors say it’ll take two or three days for him to wake up—if he does.”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “Oh… I see.”

A pause.

Then, of course, he shifted gears without missing a beat.

“Mr. Taesung’s son is arriving from the U.S. today. Go pick him up.”

I blinked. “What?”

“He’ll be head supervisor for the Taesung project. Go. Bring him to the office.”

I gritted my teeth. “Can’t literally anyone from the staff do that? Why me?”

“He’s the heir to Taesung Group. We’re welcoming a future chaebol, not a supplier. Yoon Group’s successor should go in person.”

I nearly scoffed. If you’re so obsessed with hierarchy, maybe act like a father once in a while.

But I didn’t say that. Instead, I hung up.

Because, unfortunately, this wasn’t just a father talking—it was President Yoo. The man standing between me and the CEO title.

If he wanted me to personally roll out the red carpet, I’d do it.

For now.

“Ughhhhhh,” I groaned into my steering wheel before switching directions toward the airport.

If this Taesung Min-jun guy turned out to be a snob, I swear I’d personally throw him back on the next flight to L.A.

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