Page 136 of Ruthless Touch

He smiles, the first amused expression I’ve ever seen of him. “Even better.”

The cemetery sits on a hill overlooking the Han River, blanketed by manicured lawns and chiseled headstones that speak to the kind of money that buys dignity even in death. The only suitable place for Appa to be laid to rest.

Storm clouds roll overhead, thick and angry and signaling heavy rain to come. It happens to match my mood as I make my way through the rows of graves and stop in front of the one bearing my father’s name.

Rhee Tae-hwan.

March 28th, 1961 - October 27th, 2025

Beloved Father. Respected Leader.

The words carved into the stone feel as complicated as his passing. But they’re the kind of complex feelings that remind me nothing is ever simple. Certainly not father-son relations in families like mine.

I adjust the Red Horn insignia pinned to my shirt and wonder what he’d say if he could see me now.

He always thought of me as the slacker with a defective brain that could never be great. But I’ve excelled despite the odds. I’ve become what he thought I never could.

“You weren’t here to see me flourish,” I say in reflection. “But I’ve done it anyway, Appa.”

The headstone offers no response, of course.

Just cold, chiseled stone and the distant sound of honks and blares from the city traffic below.

One of our last conversations comes to mind—him questioning my loyalty while I refused to give him the blind allegiance he demanded.

Both of us too proud and too stubborn to find middle ground before it was too late.

Neither of us knew time was running out.

And yet I don’t regret any of it. I made the choices I did because I knew it was what was right. I knew it was what I needed to do.

“I understand now why you did what you did,” I think aloud, pulling the white chrysanthemum from inside my jacket. The traditional flower of mourning in Korean culture, its petals already wilt in the gusty wind. “You lived your life in a different way than I am. The Cheongryong came before all else. But that friendship you found all those years ago still meant something. And that’s why you tried to help in your own way. You showed your own kind of mercy, Appa. Which is why I forgive you.”

I place the flower at the base of the headstone, the lone symbol of grief that’s been left.

“But I also understand you were wrong for how you treated me. You had two sons and were ashamed of one. Should I ever become a father, I won’t make that mistake.”

The first drops of rain begin to fall, dark spots appearing on the pale stone.

I should leave. Get back to my Porsche before the storm really hits.

But I find myself rooted to the spot, staring at Father’s name and thinking about his life and our family legacy.

Lightning flickers in the sky, yet another warning to get indoors.

I’m halfway turning to go when I see him—a tall, lone figure in a long dark trench coat headed my way.

It takes me another second to recognize him. Mostly because he looks so different from usual. Much less polished and put-together.

Ho-seok looks like he hasn’t slept in days, his usually perfect hair rumpled and his shirt wrinkled under the coat he’s wearing.

His dark eyes meet mine across the gravel path, as accusatory and unforgiving as ever.

We haven’t spoken since the day after our father died. I was already in Jeju, and he was left in shock by the unfortunate events.

He closes the gap between us until he’s stopping next to Father’s headstone.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” I say.