so-young looks outside the window of her car as they enter the Han mountain Estate, its modern glass-and-steel architecture clashing with the traditional white mourning banners fluttering at the gates. So-young adjusted her stiff white hanbok sleeves—hidden with crushed antidote herbs as Father helped her get out of the car.
"Remember," he murmured, straightening his tie for the tenth time. "Don't speak unless—"
"—unless Grandfather asks me directly," she finished, squeezing his hand. His palms was full of sweat.
Across the valet circle, Uncle Min-woo emerged from his black Mercedes with Dae-ho in back. Her cousin, who is now now twelve and twice as insufferable.
"Still playing peasant baker?" He flicked a nonexistent crumb from her shoulder. "Should've just bought desserts like normal people."
Behind him, Uncle chuckled. "Let her pretend. It's the only use she'll ever have in this family."
Father's jaw tightened, but he said nothing—just like always.
THE BANQUET BEGINS
The reception hall filled with Seoul's elite, all dressed in pristine white. Grandfather sat enthroned at the head table, his missing pinky finger conspicuously resting on a folded napkin.
So-young clutched her pastry box tighter as Dae-ho "accidentally" bumped her arm.
"Oops." He smirked as the box nearly toppled. "Clumsy me."
She caught it just in time, but not before noticing Moon & Son's CEO—an elderly man with Seong-ho's pocket watch chain glinting at his waistcoat—watching her with hawkish interest.
Uncle approached Grandfather with a magnum of vintage champagne. "The same vintage you and Uncle Seong-ho shared, Appa."
Grandfather's eyes darkened but he nodded for it to be poured.
THE GIFT THAT WILL CHANGE EVERYTHING
When servants called for presentations, Dae-ho went first—offering a ludicrously expensive antique sword.
"My son honors our military heritage," Uncle announced pointedly at Father, who'd chosen academia over service.
Then it was So-young's turn.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd as she placed the humble pastry box before Grandfather. Dae-ho snorted.
"Sorry, I forgot my lunchbox was show-and-tell today—"
"Open it," So-young said, staring only at Grandfather.
The moment the lid lifted, the scent of apricots and burnt sugar filled the air. Grandfather went utterly still.
"These are..." His voice cracked.
"Samchon's apricot twists," So-young whispered. "He said you'd need them when the cranes returned."
A teacup shattered somewhere in the room. Grandfather's hands trembled violently as he lifted one twist—the exact shape, the precise crackle of caramelized sugar that hadn't been made in forty years.
"Impossible," Uncle hissed. "That recipe died with—"
"With who, Min-woo?" Grandfather's gaze snapped up, sharper than the sword Dae-ho had brought. "You never met my brother."
Dae-ho, ever his father's son, piped up: "She probably Googled it. Or maybe her commoner mother—"
SLAM.
Grandfather's fist hit the table hard enough to rattle the champagne glass. The room stands still looking at grandfather as he looks through the twist made with his brother's forgotton love.
"Taste it," he ordered Uncle, passing the twist toward him.
Uncle recoiled. "I don't like sweets—"
"TASTE. IT."
As Uncle took a forced bite, So-young noticed three things:
Moon & Son's CEO subtly retreating toward the exit
Mother's knuckles whitening around her clutch
The champagne in Uncle's glass swirling ever so slightly red at the edges
Jeong's whisper curled through her mind:
"The antidote is in the mourning."
Grandfather turned back to So-young, his eyes glistening. "Who taught you this?"
Before she could answer, a server gasped. Moon & Son's CEO had collapsed, foaming at the mouth—his champagne glass rolling across the floor, completely empty.