The air shifted.
Still cold.
Still skeptical.
But a little quieter now.
One of the advisors leaned back, arms folded. "Then speak."
And Woorim did.
With clarity. Precision. Control.
Every term of the proposal, he broke it down with ease. He didn't read from the file — he knew it. Every margin analysis. Every risk buffer. Every investment return curve. His voice never rose, but it carried — smooth and practiced, firm and cool like the man himself.
When one stakeholder rudely cut in — "Did your mother explain that part to you, or did you copy it from Google?" — Woorim didn't flinch.
He simply turned to the man and said, "That's a good question. Would you like me to walk you through the cross-clan financial risk model that your team left blank in their last revision?"
Silence.
Woorim pressed on.
He offered answers with subtle elegance, slicing through objections without raising his tone. And slowly — very slowly — the room changed.
Where once there was scoffing and suspicion, there was now tight silence and grudging attention.
Where there had been condescension, there was now careful listening.
And by the end…
Even the harshest critic couldn't find a fault to drag.
The room had turned completely quiet. The once-scoffing elders now stared, stiff-backed and tight-lipped, as Woorim closed the file with practiced grace.
And then—
A low voice broke the silence.
"Well spoken."
It came from the man seated at the head of the table. He hadn't said a single word throughout the entire presentation. He hadn't even shifted.
But now, as he finally looked up, Woorim felt it.
The pressure.
The weight.
Alpha-level dominance wrapped in perfectly ironed silk.
His hair was trimmed clean, his suit sharp, every line on his face chiseled with that ruthless, ageless calm the Wolf Clan was famous for. Obsidian eyes studied Woorim like he could peel through every layer just by staring.
So this was Nam Taekyung.
CEO of the Wolf Clan. Unshakable. Unreadable. Dangerous in the way only someone perfectly calm could be.
Woorim straightened a little under the man's gaze, his lips curving into a professional smile.
"Thank you.." he replied coolly.
The silence that followed wasn't awkward it was sharp. Cutting. Like the whole room was waiting to see what Taekyung would say next.
The man leaned back in his chair, finally breaking eye contact.
"We'll review the revised proposal over the next forty-eight hours.." he said, voice as smooth and cold as black ice. "You'll receive our verdict by the end of the week."
A few elders shifted uncomfortably. Some looked like they wanted to object.
But none of them spoke.
Taekyung had spoken.
And that was final.
Woorim gave a small bow. "I look forward to it."
Without waiting for further dismissal, he gathered his materials and turned, heading towards the door.
Just before he exited, he heard another murmur ripple behind him.
"He's not what I expected…"
"Still a brat."
"But he's smart."
"…Too pretty to be smart."
"A dangerous combination."
"I kind of like him. He's as tenacious as his mother and stubborn like his grandfather. At least he didn't disgrace his clan today.."
"I heard he's about to graduate with 4.95 gpa. I'm sure Woojia is going to let him take over Baem-jo once he graduates. Kid's for sharp eyes."
Taekyung said nothing, he was too fixated on something or someone else to bother joining the conversation.
But his eyes lingered on the door Woorim just exited.
Lingering far too long.
Woorim stepped out of the building with a crisp breath of air and the proudest grin he'd worn in years. The instant the doors shut behind him, he let out the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding, chest rising and falling like he'd just come off the battlefield—and in a way, he had.
"Gold under mud," he muttered under his breath, repeating what one of the elder stakeholders had grumbled during the meeting. The words made his lips twitch upward again.
He wanted to call his mother so badly, to tell her he'd done it—he'd handled the meeting, the proposal, the room of wolves who would've happily torn him apart for breathing too loud. But halfway through unlocking his phone, he remembered.
She was in the mountains.
No phone. No signals. No tech. Just incense, herbs, and that grumpy, scowling grandfather of his who believed silence cured all.
"Ugh," he sighed and shoved the phone into his pocket, heading toward the parking lot with a new spring in his step.
Until he saw his car.
Or rather, the group of men circling it like it was some ancient artifact.
He slowed to a halt. His eyes scanned their sharp suits, then landed on the familiar insignia embroidered on their lapels—a coiled white serpent surrounded by a ring of stars.
Clan guards? He blinked. Why the hell are my mother's men here?
His gaze swept the group until he spotted a familiar face—Jung Min, one of his mother's longtime bodyguards. The guy used to babysit him when he was five.
"Hyung?" Woorim called, arching a brow. "What's going on? Why're you guys here?"
Jung Min straightened a little too fast and scratched his head sheepishly.
"Well, sir… your mother left earlier than expected. Something about a high-altitude cleanse with your grandfather. But uh…" He gave a half-apologetic smile. "Before leaving, she said to inform you that you'll be running the company until she's back."
Woorim stared.
Then blinked.
"…You're kidding, right?"
"I wish I was, sir."
"I'm graduating in less than a week. I've got my final thesis, internship closure, my part-time tutoring—how the fuck does she expect me to juggle all that and run the company?"
Jung Min winced. "She said you'd find a way."
Woorim reached for his phone again. "Call her. Now."
"About that…" Jung Min gave a nervous laugh. "She's in Tibet. Said anyone who calls her while she's meditating will be sent to Mongolia."
Woorim stared at him blankly.
-_-
"…What?"
Jung Min nodded, solemn. "Her exact words, sir."
Woorim looked around at the other guards. "Why are you all acting like that's a death sentence? We go to Mongolia every year for New Year's."
One of the men shivered. Another clutched his scarf a little tighter.
"We're snakes, sir.." Jung Min said quietly. "We nearly died from the cold last time. We don't want to go there twice in one year."
"I don't even know how your grandmother does it…" one of them muttered under his breath.
"And she lives in the mountains.." another whispered.