Her words settled something in his chest.
He looked down at the file. "Alright… I'll go."
She nodded, satisfied. "Good. Take the documents with you. Review them tonight. It's a short meeting tomorrow morning, and they'll be expecting a representative from the Snake Clan."
"…This is weird. It's like I'm becoming a responsible adult or something."
Woojia smacked his arm. "Don't get ahead of yourself."
He grinned. "Fine. Just a very attractive intern then."
She rolled her eyes but smiled.
He stood and tucked the file into his bag. "If Grandpa asks, I'm still a disappointment."
"He already knows. He's got spies."
Woorim stopped mid-stride. "…I knew it."
---
Later that night, Woorim stood in front of his mirror, brushing back his hair with his fingers.
Buttoned shirt? Too stiff. Black collarless turtleneck? Better.
He adjusted the chain around his neck and slipped on a blazer that was the most neutral thing in his closet.
"Alright, Wolf Clan meeting," he muttered to himself. "Don't say anything dumb."
He eyed the mirror again.
"Woorim 2.0… please don't screw this up."
Woorim woke up early.
Like really early.
The kind of early that made his reflection in the mirror squint at him like "Who are you and what have you done with the real Woorim?"
But he didn't question it. His brain was oddly clear — the kind of clear that came after crying yourself into a coma and sleeping like a child for the first time in months.
He walked to the bathroom, turned on the shower, and stripped off his hoodie.
For once, he didn't stand under the hot water just to sulk.
He washed properly. Carefully. Like he had somewhere important to be — which, to be fair, he did.
He even washed his hair.
All of it.
The entire silver waist-length cascade that usually stayed half-brushed, half-wrapped into some careless ponytail.
Not today.
Woorim conditioned it. Rinsed it. Towel dried it with a patience that would have made his mother faint.
Then he carefully brushed every tangle out, finger-combed the ends, and twisted it into a neat low bun with a jade clasp to pin it in place.
He stood there in front of the mirror afterward, blinking like he didn't recognize himself.
Was this what maturity felt like?
He had no idea. But he kind of liked it.
Last night, after reviewing the proposal three times and highlighting important clauses with neon tabs, he'd taken a short walk around the estate, stared at the moon a little too long, and actually processed everything he'd been avoiding.
The hurt.
The guilt.
The ridiculousness of his past behavior.
He wasn't fully healed.
But he wasn't running either.
By 7:00 AM, his shoes were already polished, he'd done it the night before while watching a grainy YouTube video on "how to not scuff leather like an idiot" and his blazer and trousers were sharp and crisp from a full ironing session.
White shirt. Silver cufflinks. No cologne. Just neat, clean, professional.
Woorim tied his bag across his chest and checked the time.
7:23 AM.
Perfect.
By 7:30 AM, he was in his car, already halfway down the long bridge out of the Snake Clan district, humming softly to himself as the sun glinted off the quiet road.
His GPS glowed softly on the dash, guiding him toward Neukddae, the Wolf Clan's southern administrative province.
He hadn't been there since he was a child.
Back then, the Wolves and Snakes had maintained a politely distant relationship, cordial enough to share ceremonial space, cold enough to avoid actual friendships.
Now? It was neutral territory, but still tense.
And yet here he was, driving into Wolf territory with nothing but a file folder and a new attitude.
He rolled down the window slightly, letting the morning wind thread through the front of his bun.
For once, he didn't feel like someone pretending to have it all together.
He actually felt… alright.
Maybe it was the sunrise.
Maybe it was the weight off his chest.
Or maybe, just maybe, it was the fact that he, Woorim the scandalous playboy, the walking headline, the spoiled snake prince with too many one night stands and too many regrets, was finally doing something that mattered.
He checked the rearview mirror, eyes steady.
"Let's go ruin a few expectations."
He smirked.
Then hit the gas.
At exactly 7:30 AM, Woorim stood at the gates of Neukddae, the seat of the Wolf Clan's power. The cold morning wind nipped at his collar, but his expression didn't waver.
He wore a dark gray blazer, subtly tailored to his lean frame, layered over a crisp black dress shirt tucked into slate trousers. A silver pin gleamed from his lapel — not showy, but unmistakably the mark of the White Snake Clan. His polished black shoes clicked cleanly against the paved stone as he stepped forward.
His hair was pulled into a flawless bun, the long strands still faintly damp from his early morning shower. There wasn't a wrinkle on his clothes. Not a smudge on his shoes.
He looked the part.
But everyone already had an idea of what he was.
And it wasn't flattering.
Inside the central council building, sharp eyes followed him the moment he entered. The long table was surrounded by Wolf Clan elders, shareholders, and executive voices from their side of the alliance.
Every one of them wore a stiff, unreadable mask. Some didn't even try.
One man scoffed softly. Another raised a brow in blatant disapproval.
The air was tight. Tense. A few whispers slipped under breath.
"Didn't think he'd actually show up."
"…Bai Woorim? The club rat?"
"He looks clean. For once."
Woorim ignored them all.
He stepped up to the presentation table, opened the slim folder he'd brought, and placed it down with perfect composure.
Then he looked up and offered a calm, flat smile.
"I'm Bai Woorim, final year business major. Here on behalf of Matriarch Bai Woojia of the White Snake Clan to present a revised proposal regarding the shared border project between Neukddae and Beom-jo. I hope the council is prepared to listen."
A low murmur followed.
The CEO of the Wolf Clan sat at the far end —unmoving, unreadable. But he hadn't told him to sit down.
So Woorim continued.
"I understand I'm not the person you expected..." he said. "And I won't pretend like my past isn't public knowledge. But I ask that you listen, not because of my name but because of what I've come to say."