Before we start, a big shoutout to pranjalKamlait for making me smile with your comments! 💬💖 Your words really brightened my day and gave me the push I needed to keep writing. Thank you for the support—it means more than you know! 😊✨

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Vittorio stood in the vast, silent wasteland that Destiny had cast him into—an endless stretch of grey earth and sky, untouched by time or life. The haunting echo of Han-seok's betrayal still burned behind his eyes, but his sobs had long turned to silence. His voice, when he finally spoke, was calm. Too calm.  

"I'm ready," he told Destiny, not with the fire of vengeance or the hope of healing, but with something colder. Final. "Send me back."  

The moment he reappeared in the theatre, the shift in atmosphere was palpable. The glowing light that usually accompanied his entrances was dimmer, less vibrant. His footsteps were slow but deliberate, almost soundless as he stepped into the centre of the room. Gone was the Vittorio who had once laughed too loudly, who taunted and teased even in the most morbid of scenes. Gone was the spark in his eyes, the sharp edge of humor that danced on his tongue. In its place was a silence that felt heavier than any scream. His face was unreadable, carved in stillness like a marble statue. His presence no longer demanded attention—it commanded it. 

Vincenzo stood up first, his breath caught in his throat. He watched his younger brother carefully, uncertain. This wasn't the same man who had collapsed in front of him minutes ago, shattering under the weight of heartbreak. This version of Vittorio looked... hollow. "Vittorio?" he called gently, almost as if addressing a ghost.  

Cha-young's lips parted, her usual spark of wit frozen in her throat. Even she, who had matched Vittorio quip for quip in the past, found no words. There was nothing to joke about here. 

Han-seo remained seated, shoulders tense. He understood this kind of silence. He had worn it himself, once—back when every day was survival under the weight of cruelty. His chest ached as he watched Vittorio return with the same empty gaze he had seen in the mirror years ago. There was no thrill in watching this moment. Only dread. 

The tenants, who had once found entertainment in Vittorio's flamboyant commentary, shifted uncomfortably in their seats. They knew enough now to understand that this wasn't an act. 

And Han-seok... he flinched. For the first time since the theatre had begun showing these scenes, he looked genuinely afraid. Vittorio didn't look at him. Didn't acknowledge him. That terrified him more than any insult, any tear, any threat. The coldness in his former lover's eyes was absolute. It meant Han-seok no longer mattered. And for a man like him, that was the deepest cut of all.  

"Well," Vittorio said, "are we going to sit here like mourners at my funeral, or is Destiny going to roll the next scenes?" 

There was no smirk, no tilt of the head, none of that playful venom he used to lace his words with. Just a blunt, unbothered delivery—more unsettling than any outburst. 

Vincenzo frowned deeply, heart twisting. That voice—it was his brother's, but it wasn't. It was missing something vital, something that used to flare even when Vittorio was furious: feeling. 

The scene changes to show Vincenzo, Vittorio, and Hong Cha-young standing in front of a building. After their successful mission, the victims of the Babel case are removing the poster they posted on the van. Cha-young is flustered when one of the victims grabs her in a hug before leaving. The Cassano brothers smile at this. The camera pans at the trio before the scene is changed. 

Even though the scene was wholesome, no one in the theatre could smile—haunted still by the brutal confrontation between the younger Cassano and the real Babel chairman. The contrast was jarring. On screen, Vittorio smiled easily, warmth in his eyes. In the theatre, he sat still—cold, silent, and unreadable.  

The scene changes to the laundry shop where Choi Myung-hee is shown talking to Mr. Han who was sitting in his car. The camera goes back and forth between them. 

"Who the hell would do that?" Myung-hee asks. 

"They are investigating now. So we should wait," Mr. Han replies back. 

"It must have done some damage to Babel," Myung-hee says. 

"That's an understatement. It's as bad as getting hit by a tsunami," Mr. Han says in disagreement and continues to ask in worry, "What are we going to do?" 

Myung-hee sighs and replies, "Okay. I got it. See you tomorrow." 

She cuts the call and ponders for a while sitting on the stool. 

"What the hell is this?"  

It was no shocker for the people in the theatre to realize this was indeed a significant blow to the Babel Group—but none of them were naïve enough to think it would end here. Babel had always been a hydra—cut one head off, and two more would grow back. And with a man like Han-seok at the helm—charming on the outside, monstrous beneath—it was only a matter of time before he retaliated.  

The scene changes to Jang mansion. The camera show Jang Han-seok coming downstairs after a bath. Han-seo was standing downstairs. He takes the water bottle from Han-seo's hand and walks ahead.  

"Please give me one more chance to get even," Han-seo says following after his elder brother. "I will find them and destroy them to pieces," He tries to reassure his brother.  

Han-seok's eyes darkened the moment the Jang mansion came into view. The familiar walls, the cold marble floors, the weight of his towel still damp on his shoulders—all of it felt suffocating now. As the scene played out, showing his smug, composed self snatching the water bottle from Han-seo and walking away, his stomach twisted into a knot. 

He didn't need to watch more to know what came next. His future self—cornered, furious, spiraling—would find the easiest target. And as always, Han-seo would be right there, wide-eyed and loyal, waiting to be hurt. 

A bitter laugh almost escaped him, but it died before reaching his lips. Of course, it would be Han-seo. That idiot always placed himself in the fire, and he, Han-seok, always lit the match. 

Han-seok turns and looks at him in disbelief. 

"Hey! Hey! And just how will you find them? Hmm?" Han-seok asks in a mocking tone. "Don't get ahead of yourself," He says and takes of the towel to clean Han-seo's suit. 

"Just do what I tell you to do. Okay?" Han-seok says while continuing to pat his younger brother's cheek lightly. 

"I know I can do something here!" Han-seok tries to retort back in a loud tone. 

"Don't raise your voice. You startled me," Han-seok says in the nonchalant tone. 

Han-seok's eyes flicked briefly to Vittorio—stone-faced, silent, distant. It wasn't the silence that hurt. It was the certainty. Han-seok knew, deep in his gut, that whatever little forgiveness Vittorio might have been holding onto would vanish the moment the next few scenes played. 

Han-seo sighs and tries to explain, "I mean... " 

Han-seok puts the towel around his younger brother's back of neck. 

The air in the theatre turned suffocating, thick with a foreboding silence. Everyone felt it—an unpredictable evil brewing beneath Han-seok's composed facade. The kind of danger only a true psychopath could bring. 

"Han-seo." 

"Sir." 

Joon-woo starts to choke the fake Chairman Jang to death because he doesn't like his tone. 

Even though everyone saw it coming, the moment still hit like a punch. Han-seok's worst fear unfolded before his eyes—Vittorio's gaze darkened with raw hatred, fists clenched so tightly they threatened to draw blood. The love he once saw in those eyes was gone, replaced by something far colder. 

"Have you lost your mind now that people call you chairman?" Han-seok while continuing to strangle Han-seo. 

"No, that's not it. Sir," Han-seo tries to say with great difficulty. 

Suddenly, Han-seok throws him on the bed and continues to strangle him even more. 

All their eyes widened in disbelief—this was cruelty beyond comprehension. A few shocked murmurs broke the silence: 

"Is he a complete deranged psycho?" ... 

"Isn't that his own brother?"  

The horror of the moment settled over the theatre like a storm cloud, dark and suffocating.  

Cha-young couldn't believe her eyes. That sweet, innocent assistant who used to bumble through legal errands with awkward charm—how had he masked this monster within? The dissonance was unbearable; even now, she struggled to tell which version of him had ever been real.  

"Sir," Han-seo tries to utter but he wasn't even able to breathe. 

For Han-seo, the pain was familiar—almost numbing. Near-death experiences like this had become a cruel routine. But this time, there was no fear left. Only emptiness. If death came now, he would welcome it like an old friend. At least it would mean freedom from his brother's grip.  

"You are nothing but a puppet of mine," Han-seok says in a mocking tone and increases his strength even more.  

After so long, Vincenzo finally noticed a crack in Vittorio's emotionless mask. A flicker of something—rage, regret—flashed in his brother's eyes, but the longer he looked, the clearer it became. It wasn't rage. It was self-hate. 

Vittorio's fingers twitched, jaw clenched. He felt as though it was him on that screen, choking Han-seo. Him, blind in love with the devil who had stolen his best friend's light. The man he had cherished, defended, adored—was the same man who left bruises on Han-seo's soul. And what did that make him? A bystander? A coward? No. Worse—a traitor cloaked in affection. 

And the worst part of it all—he had sworn on his friendship, on every breath Han-seo had spent clinging to hope, that he would make the man who ruined him suffer tenfold. Yet now, bound by foolish, pathetic feelings, by a heart that still flinched at the thought of harming Han-seok, he stood frozen. How could these same hands, once so ready to protect, now be the ones to destroy? The contradiction tore at him, turning vengeance into agony. 

"Yes." Han-seo agrees hoping that Han-seok spares his life.  

"So don't you dare think for yourself. Got it?" Han-seok continues to threaten him. 

"Yes, I got it. Yes, sir," Han-seo says while gasping for breath. 

Han-seok continues increasing his strength and suddenly leaves the towel. Han-seo rolls over the bed and coughs. 

Everyone remained frozen in horror, the scene digging deep into their chests like a rusted blade. Pity weighed heavy in the room—how could someone so gentle, so eager to be loved, be cursed with a life like this? Whispers of sympathy for Han-seo stirred quietly, but no one dared speak louder. Even the air seemed to mourn him. 

Han-seok continues to drink water and says, "The cause of today's fire will be electrical overheating, not arson. But it will affect the stock prices, so get the board members for an emergency meeting. Oh right. And tell Wusang what I told you earlier, Okay?" He orders Han-seo while looking at him. 

Han-seo nods while bowing down. "Yes, sir." 

"Han-seo, go home now," Han-seok says and walks off from there leaving Han-seo behind. 

Unlike the rest, Myung-hee's lips curled into a faint smirk. While others shuddered in disgust, she saw potential—raw, ruthless power in Han-seok's madness. This was the kind of devil she wouldn't mind dancing with. Sentiment was a luxury she never cared for, and if a few emotional obstacles stood in her way, she'd clear them without a second thought. After all, to her, making a deal with the devil wasn't terrifying—it was strategic.  

The younger Jang brother tries to collect himself but stumbles back due to effect of being strangled. He loosens his tie and takes deep breaths. 

The scne changes to Han-seo steeping out of an elevator in the basement. He walks towards his car and slams the door hard clearly looking pissed off. He chuckles with his demeanour suddenly changing. 

"I am glad I am just a puppet. I can just cut off the strings. Besides, the real fun hasn't even started yet." 

A strange silence settled in the theatre. Most were too stunned to speak—unsure whether to feel proud, worried, or afraid. Han-seo's shift in demeanor was so abrupt, so unnerving, that it sent a chill down many spines. Cha-young furrowed her brows, trying to decipher whether this was courage or the beginning of something darker. 

The camera pans over him and he just smirks. 

Han-seok's eyes twitched as he watched the screen, jaw clenched so tight it could snap. That little worm—his pathetic, timid brother—daring to smirk like that? Daring to rebel? He had given him an inch, and now the bitch thought he could fly. Han-seok almost laughed. So he wants to cut the strings? Fine. He'd personally wrap them around Han-seo's neck and drag him back like the puppet he was. No one stole from him—not power, not control, and certainly not Vittorio. His brother would soon learn: betrayal came with a price, and Han-seok would make sure Han-seo paid it with blood, agony, and a fate so cruel that death would seem like mercy. In the end, he would have both victory and Vittorio. 

The scene changes to Vincenzo, Vittorio and Cha-young sitting at the roof top of plaza and celebrating over drinks. 

"Cheers," Cha-young says and the three clink their beer bottles. 

"I am glad that you both are getting started. They will catch on to us if we keep blasting like we did today," Cha-young says. 

"If we keep playing the old game on loop, it would be just a matter of time that we loose. Therefore, we would need to keep inventing new games so that the mouse would eventually be trapped," Vittorio says. 

"He is right. We need to change our approach. We will use the law and the court, the two things we know best," Vincenzo says in agreement with his brother. 

"They will be better at that than we are," Cha-young retorts back. 

"That's the whole point. We need to beat them at their own game," Vittorio replies. 

"It would make the victory taste even sweeter," Vincenzo adds.  

After such an intense scene, the planning session of the trio felt somewhat wholesome to the people in the theatre. However, deep down, they all shared the same hope—that, no matter what, the future of the Babel Group should be destroyed. Each of them understood that those who torment and victimize innocent people must be eradicated before they further corrupt society.  

Cha-young nods in understanding but something suddenly clicks in her mind. 

"But Mr. Cassano. You can't practice law in Korea," She says.  

"How could we miss that point? She's right!" Larry exclaimed in realization, his voice barely rising above a whisper. He made sure only those sitting close to him could hear, fearing that any louder outburst could draw the attention of the mafias and psycho business types who wouldn't hesitate to kill him if they were offended.  

"Who says he is the only lawyer here," Vittorio says making Cha-young raise her eyebrows. 

"We have you," Vincenzo says making Cha-young exclaim. 

Cha-young exclaimed inwardly. 

"What, me?" she thought, her mind racing. She doubted if she could ever handle it like her father. But she knew she had to do it—avenge her father's death and the countless innocent people caught in the sinister flames of Babel.  

"Are you both trying to make me take the heat in your place? So that I go down alone?" Cha-young asks them. 

"We will be the one putting heat on them. Let's focus on our next step for now," Vincenzo says. 

"Ms. Hong, you should deepen your trust in us more, we won't let you go down, now that we all are in this equally," Vittorio says and Cha-young nods and drinks from her bottle. 

"Shall I guess what your next step is?" Cha-young says placing her chin on her hands. This made Vittorio chuckle and Vincenzo look at her in surprise. 

"Since when you could read our mind?" Vincenzo asked. 

"I can't do that. I am not a psychic. I am the person who knows Babel's dirty little secrets more than anyone else in Korea," Cha-young says making Vittorio rays his brows in amusement. 

"Well, then... let's see what you have got," Vincenzo says. 

Cha-young tries to get up from the stool in 'style' and 'elegance' and walks while placing her hands on her waist.  

Even Cha-young cringed a little at her on-screen self's antics. She knew all too well how alcohol tended to give her an overconfident boost—making her feel like she could take on the world, even if reality begged to differ. 

"Babel's most vulnerable subsidiary. The subsidiary that rigs the stock prices the most. And the subsidiary whose ethics will be damaged at the greatest degree," Cha-young says.  

At this point, some of them could guess what subsidiary Cha-young was talking about. 

"So, which infamous subsidiary is this?" Vittorio asks. 

Cha-young points a gun sign towards the billboard and mimics to shoot it. The Cassano brothers turn to look at it. 

The billboard displayed, "THE ALCHEMISTS OF FUTURE SCIENCE, BABEL CHEMICALS" 

Vincenzo gets up and walk towards Cha-young to get a better view of the billboard.  

The scene switches to a man walking upstairs. It is showed monk Chaeshin has a meal with a long-time friend who happens to be a Babel Chemicals employee. 

"Is that Monk Chaeshin?" 

"What is he doing with a Babel employee?" 

"Is this your friend?" 

Murmurs like these rippled through the tenants—confused, suspicious, and a little betrayed. Of all people, why would someone as spiritual and calm as the monk associate with a company like Babel? Their trust in him wavered for a moment, tinted with doubt and disbelief. 

"He is a very old friend of mine, not what you think," Monk Chaeshin replied calmly. 

His words were meant to reassure, but they did little to ease the tension.  

"Hey." His friend says. 

"What?" Monk Chaeshin asks. 

"Be honest. You don't do all 108 bows, right? I bet you skip a few" He asks making the monk sigh in annoyance. 

A few chuckles rippled through the theatre, breaking the lingering tension. The tenants shot amused looks at Monk Chaeshin, who was already shrinking in his seat, muttering under his breath in embarrassment. The head monk's glare only added to his misery, making it painfully obvious that he'd be getting a scolding later. 

"I don't skip anything. What do you take me for? Seriously," Monk Chaeshin retorts but his friend laughs it off. 

"I bet you eat sausages behind his back, right? Pork belly and green onions too." The man says and chuckles. 

The head monk's intensified glare was enough to make everyone wince on his behalf. Monk Chaeshin slumped deeper into his seat, whispering a defeated, "I'm done for," as the tenants snickered around him. 

"Shut your mouth, jerk," The monk says and looks behind to see if his teacher is listening or not. "Shut it, man. Help me, merciful Buddha." 

"Can't we out next time? I came her once a month and we always eat vegetables," The man says. 

"Hey, your nose is bleeding," The monk says pointing out. 

The room went quiet real quick. Any hint of laughter just disappeared. That nosebleed — it said everything. Everyone watching could piece it together: the guy worked for Babel Chemicals, and those dangerous experiments were clearly messing with his health. This wasn't just shady business — real lives were getting wrecked behind the scenes. 

"Darn it." He presses handkerchief over his bleeding nose to stop it. 

"Hey, are you okay?" The monk asks him out of concern. The man groans. "You have lost a lot of weight and even have nosebleeds." The monk continues to ask. 

Monk Chaeshin couldn't hide the worry on his face. Seeing his friend looking so sick hit harder than he expected. He wasn't just being paranoid — the nosebleeds, the weight loss, all of it screamed danger. He made a quiet promise to himself then and there: he'd get his friend out of Babel Chemicals no matter what. Before it was too late. 

"Hey, I am good. Seriously," His friend tried to reassure. "We used to run all over the places 15 years ago, right?" 

"Right," The monk replies nodding his head, he sighs and continues, "Back then, you were no match for me. Look how far you have come." 

"Stop kidding me. You couldn't even look me in the eyes." The man taunts. 

"Look at you. I should teach you a lesson," The monk retorted back. "You are bringing the old me." 

"You are ridiculous. Come on." 

Meanwhile, the head monk was constantly getting disturbed, he groans to remind them that he is still present there. 

"I ought to... don't swear." 

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Thank you so much for reading! 💕 Your support, love, and comments truly keep me going. I'm so grateful for each one of you who takes the time to follow this story—it means the world. 🌍✨

And yes, you're in luck! There will be another update this month 🎉 So keep those comments coming and keep showering love—it's the fuel that keeps me writing! See you very soon with the next chapter. 💬🖤