Sometimes I still dream about the hospital.
The small room, the antiseptic smell, the light that was way too white. Him curled up on the bed, his face covered in bruises, his body far too still for a seven-year-old.
I hated that silence. Hated the way he stared, no blinking, no crying.
He just... looked. Like he had already said goodbye to us on the inside.
That's when I started building Goden.
People think the mafia is born from ambition. That's a lie. It's born from fear. From the fear of losing what you love and not being able to stop it. I swore that would never happen again.
I built a steel wall around my sons.
Jun-ho never liked being touched.
Ever since he came back home after the kidnapping, he didn't let anyone near him. Not me. Not his mother. Not the doctors.
It was like his body had turned into a minefield. Any approach and his system would scream danger.
We respected it. Learned to talk through silence, presence, patience.
