Page 137 of Ruthless Touch

“It’s my father’s grave too,” he replies flatly. His gaze lowers to the insignia pinned on my shirt, barely visit with the jacket I have on. “If I didn’t know better, Gun-woo, I’d say inheriting his position made you think you inherited exclusive mourning rights…”

I bite back my first response, which is to tell him to go fuck himself.

That would be what the old Gun would say. But I’m not looking for conflict or to battle my own brother.

We’re both grieving, even if it’s in different ways.

“I didn’t inherit anything. I earned it.”

“Right,” he sneers. “Through recklessness and bloodshed and dragging our family name through the mud. You know what the rest of the family’s saying about it? About how Tae-hwan’s own son got him killed?”

“They’re saying a lot of things. Most of them wrong.”

“Are they?” Ho-seok steps closer, rain dripping from his hair. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you chose some assassin over your own family. Like you put your dick before your duty and got our father murdered for it.”

“Is that not what you’ve done, Ho-seok?” I counter. “You went off to medical school and pretended you were not the son of a gangster. You were too ashamed, weren’t you? Yet father prized you anyway. You could do no wrong in his eyes. But I’m not bitter over it, hyung. Not anymore.

“I chose the truth over comfortable lies. I chose justice over blind loyalty. The woman I fell in love with happened to be a part of that. If that makes me a bad son in your eyes, I can live with that.”

“Justice.” He laughs coldly, not a trace of humor to be found. “You mean revenge. Some other woman’s revenge. Your obsession with her drove everything you did. Reckless like always.”

“Her name isElise. And sheismy obsession. Because she’s worthy of being so, Ho-seok. I fell for a woman organically and didn’t choose a cookie-cutter obedient bride like you’ve done. The perfect doctor’s wife. What we have is real, and that’s why I discovered the truth of what was going on. You wouldn’t understand.”

“You sold Appa out. He was a good man who?—”

“Appa was a complicated man who made mistakes,” I cut him off. “Just like we all do. But at least I’m willing to acknowledge that instead of pretending he was perfect.”

Ho-seok stares at me for a long moment, rain running down his face like tears. When he speaks again, his tone has quieted and grown more solemn. “I… I never expected him to be gone so suddenly. There were things... things I wanted to say to him. About our relationship and the troubles we had. It wasn’t all perfect like I pretended.”

The admission costs him, I can see it in the way his shoulders sag slightly. For just a moment, he looks less like the cold, calculating doctor and more like the older brother who used to sneak me extra dessert when Appa wasn’t looking.

He looks like the boy who was plucked from our home and went to live with his mother while I stayed behind with our father.

“A lot was left unresolved,” I agree. “For both of us.”

“Yeah, well.” He straightens up, the moment of vulnerability passing. “Maybe if you hadn’t been so busy playing Romeo and Juliet with the enemy, we would have had more time to figure things out.”

And just like that, we’re back to old patterns. Old resentments. The same dynamic that’s defined our relationship since we were children—him the responsible heir, me the disappointment.

“I’m not interested in a family feud, Ho-seok. We’ve lost enough already.”

He studies my face as if trying to decipher a riddle. “Then maybe this is the last we see of each other.”

The parting words should hurt more than they do. Maybe they would’ve a few months ago.

But standing here in the rain, with Father’s insignia pinned to my chest and Elise waiting for me back in the warmth of our loft, I find it’s for the best.

I can accept the distance between us.

Some things can’t be easily repaired; some things can’teverbe repaired.

“Maybe it is,” I say simply.

Ho-seok releases a deep sigh, taking one last look at the Red Horn insignia and stuffing his hands in his coat pockets. “He would’ve been proud. In his own twisted way.”

He turns and walks away, his long coat fluttering in the wind like wings.

I’m not bitter or angry about it.