Woorim parked just outside the estate's gates, blinking against the sunlight reflecting off the sleek black sedan that wasn't usually there.
He narrowed his eyes slightly but didn't think much of it. His mother had visitors all the time, politicians, CEOs, clan elders, spiritual advisors.
As the reigning matriarch of the White Snake Clan and a highly sought-after financial advisor, she was constantly surrounded by work.
He stretched his arms, rolled his neck once, and made his way inside, feeling strangely small despite the warm, sprawling estate he'd grown up in.
The moment the doors opened and the familiar scent of herbal incense and polished wood hit his nose, something in his chest loosened.
He slipped his sneakers off at the doorway and padded in without glancing toward the living room.
There was someone seated on the couch, but he barely noticed, his focus was already fixed on the woman standing in the hallway, going through a file.
"Ma.." he called, voice barely steady.
She looked up sharply.
"Woorim?" she blinked. "You're here early... and.." she paused, scanning his outfit "what in heaven's name are you wearing?"
"I.." he opened his mouth, then sighed and walked right up to her, arms spreading.
"I need a hug."
His mother frowned, confused, but opened her arms anyway. The moment she wrapped them around his shoulders, Woorim buried his face in her shoulder.
She froze.
"…What happened?"
He sniffed. "I got dumped."
There was a muffled cough from the living room.
Only then did Woorim glance sideways and freeze.
A man in a sleek black suit sat on the edge of the cream-colored couch, a leather briefcase beside him.
His sharp, cool features looked vaguely familiar. Possibly a clan member or secretary? Or from the finance department?
Woorim turned back to his mother, mortified. "You have guests?"
She pulled away with a fond eye roll. "He's just here to finalize a few property accounts. You've interrupted more than one meeting before, so don't act like you suddenly have shame."
He groaned. "Ma, not today. Please."
The man on the couch gave a polite nod. "I can return later."
"No need." Woorim's mother waved him off. "You're done anyway."
The man stood, nodded once again, and with one last curious glance at Woorim's wilted frame, left the house.
The moment the door clicked shut, Woorim deflated like a kicked balloon and sat on the armrest.
"I ruined everything."
His mother handed him a tissue box. "Good to know that."
He blinked up. "What do you mean good?"
"You've finally realized you're not God's gift to women. I was beginning to worry that you'd never grow out of your ridiculous party phase."
"I haven't even cried like this since middle school, Ma."
"Then cry more.." she said, crossing her arms. "Cleanse yourself. Then get your act together."
He sniffed again and gave a watery chuckle. "You're not going to comfort me?"
She sat beside him and smoothed down his messy beanie. "This is ME comforting you."
He leaned his head on her shoulder.
"I really messed it up this time."
"Yes, you did," she said gently. "But that's how people learn. Through pain and self awareness.."
Woorim was silent for a while.
Finally, he murmured, "She told me I used to be someone… someone worth being proud of. Do you think she was right?"
His mother looked at him for a long moment.
"You were always going to walk the wrong road first.." she said. "But if you can walk back and choose a better one now, then yes. She's absolutely right."
He didn't respond, but his eyes grew moist again.
She patted his hand and stood. "Aigoo, once you start crying it's hard to get you to stop. You're such a crybaby.."
-_-
"Im not, you are.."
His mother chuckled, this was Woorim's true nature when he wasn't in his playboy role.
He had always been childish.
"Let's have breakfast, mum will like to ask for a favor..."
Woorim blinked. "A favor?"
His mother raised an eyebrow. "Don't give me that look. I feed you."
"You haven't fed me in five years."
"I gave birth to you. That counts for at least ten."
He groaned dramatically but reached for the file anyway, flipping it open.
"It's from the Wolf Clan," she said, pouring him a cup of tea. "They've requested a consultation on territory boundary agreements. Nothing too dramatic — just a few overlapping zones with the northern clans."
Woorim frowned. "And you want me to go?"
"I would've gone myself, but I have to make a trip to the mountains. Your grandfather's being difficult again."
Woorim blinked, still scanning the proposal. "What for?"
"Don't ask," she said, sipping her tea calmly. "You'll be safer pretending you don't know."
"…That bad?"
"He thinks the coffee machine in the council hall is cursed. It's become a sect-wide issue."
Woorim stared. "You're kidding."
"I wish I was." She sighed. "But he's convinced it's summoning spirits."
He rubbed his temple. "Sometimes I forget we're not a normal family."
"Speak for yourself. I'm perfectly normal. You're the flashy one."
Woorim rolled his eyes. "Ma, do you really trust me with this?"
She gave him a long look. One that dug under his skin and pulled at all the pieces he tried to hide.
"You're the son I'm most proud of," she said, her voice steady. "You've been reading investment charts since you were nine. You're a final-year student with a 4.95 GPA in one of the country's top business schools. This? It's little for you."
"…You make it sound easy."
"Because for you, it is" she said with a knowing smile.
Woorim shifted. "My reputation isn't exactly... great. Won't I be ruining your image?"
Woojia chuckled, then reached out and squeezed his hand gently.
"You've had your shortcomings.." she said, "but I've never been ashamed to call you my son. And I never will be. You're not who you used to be last week, and that's what matters to me."