WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: Arsène

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ The Conglomerate Heir Just Wants to Fail ◈

Chapter 1

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“Hot coals coming through!”

A booming voice cut through the dining hall.

My voice.

Holding a charcoal brazier radiating sizzling heat in both hands, I skillfully made my way through the crowd.

People brushing past my shoulders, elbows suddenly jutting out.

As if I had calculated it all in advance, I narrowly avoided every obstacle and set the brazier down at Table Four.

“Your meat will be right out.”

As soon as my automatic greeting ended, shouts erupted behind me.

“Boss! Another bottle of soju over here!”

“Excuse me! More side dishes, please!”

There was no time to catch my breath.

My whole body was sticky with sweat.

This place reeked of grilled meat, alcohol, and people, the smell soaking into every strand of my hair.

A charcoal-grilled meat restaurant on the outskirts of Seoul.

This was where I, twenty-six-year-old Kang Daeun, worked.

.

“Hey! Daeun!”

Someone called out to me while I was diligently scrubbing the exhaust hood after all the customers had left.

It was the owner of this restaurant, a man in his fifties who paid my wages.

I wiped the sweat on my face with my forearm and approached him.

“Yes, sir.”

“You worked hard today, huh?”

His tone was brusque, but there was something subtly different about it from usual.

The owner nodded toward the empty dining hall.

“Wrap things up and head home early. I’ll close up.”

‘...What’s gotten into him?’

My boss was not a bad person at heart, but he could be a real penny-pincher when money was involved.

I glanced at the clock. There were still thirty minutes until closing.

‘Business must’ve been good today.’

Despite it being a weekday evening, the restaurant had been so busy I could barely catch my breath, perhaps because groups from nearby offices had come in for company dinners.

Naturally, my boss’s smile had not left his face once.

Of course, what did that have to do with me, the part-timer?

The restaurant making more money did not mean my hourly wage went up.

It had simply been a harder day than usual.

“No, I’ll finish up before I go.”

“Forget it. Drink this.”

He tossed me a can of beer from the refrigerator.

I caught it on reflex, and the cold spread across my palm.

“You must be tired. Go home, have a cold one, and sleep.”

I could not refuse any longer.

This was the greatest kindness that man could offer, as well as his silent way of saying, “I’m in a good mood, so quit talking and get out.”

“Thank you, sir. See you tomorrow.”

After giving him a small bow, I headed for the changing room.

The moment I pulled off my ash-gray uniform, a foul smell stabbed my nose.

The odor of meat smoke and sweat clinging to my entire body.

No matter how thoroughly I washed, that disgusting smell always seeped back in by the next day.

I wiped down my sticky body with wet wipes and changed into an old T-shirt and jeans.

When I stepped outside, the cool night air, utterly unlike the muggy heat inside the restaurant, pierced my lungs.

‘I can breathe again.’

I opened the beer my boss had given me.

Psssh.

The cold carbonation felt like it washed down my insides.

I drained half the still-chilled beer in one gulp.

.

Thud, thud.

With the nearly empty beer can in hand, I walked down an alley lit only here and there by streetlamps.

My home was a fifteen-minute walk from the restaurant.

It was a rooftop room at the very top of a neighborhood where multi-family homes stood packed tightly together.

Beep-beep-beep-beep, beep-beep.

I entered the code for the door lock.

It was sweltering in summer and freezing in winter, but it was not easy to find a place of my own under the Seoul sky at this price.

“Still, this is happiness.”

Brief happiness.

I poured the rest of the beer down my throat and squeezed the can in my fist.

Crunch.

I casually tossed the crushed can into the recycling bin and flopped straight onto the bed.

“I need to shower...”

My quiet mutter scattered into the empty room.

Unlike my intentions, my body, covered in charcoal smoke and sweat, already felt as though it had become one with the bed.

The old mattress, its springs completely worn out, creaked as it struggled to support my weight.

The damp feel of my clothes against my back was unpleasant.

‘Damn it, what a pain.’

If I fell asleep like this, I would wake tomorrow morning disgusted by the smell of grilled meat soaked into my entire body.

I knew that well from experience.

Trying to ward off sleep, I reached out and felt around the bedside table.

My fingertips found a dusty remote control.

It was an old TV I had not turned on in a long time.

When the screen came on, the face of a late-night news anchor appeared.

The voice rattling off the day’s events broke the silence of my rooftop room.

“Yawn...”

I closed my eyes, letting the meaningless noise wash over me like background music.

Just as my exhaustion-drowned consciousness was slowly sinking away, a familiar name struck my mind.

“...Rumors concerning Daeseung Group Chairman Kang Sinsu’s declining health have once again surfaced. Daeseung dismissed the suspicions, saying it was merely his annual routine medical examination, but Chairman Kang Sinsu has already been absent from public appearances for three months, and as his seclusion continues...”

‘......’

My eyes snapped open.

A photograph of an old man filled the screen.

A wrinkled face, sharp eyes, firmly closed lips.

Though he had faced the full force of life’s hardships, an intense presence still radiated from him.

He did not look much different from how I remembered him last.

“...Grandfather?”

The word slipped from my lips as I stared blankly at the television.

Then, at that exact moment.

Knock. Knock.

A sudden knock echoed through the old front door.

At this hour, there was no one who would come to this shabby rooftop room.

“...Who is it?”

After a brief silence, a calm, polite woman’s voice came from outside.

“Is Mr. Kang Daeun here?”

“I asked who you are.”

“...”

The woman outside seemed to let out a short sigh instead of answering.

“You remember me, don’t you? I’m Lee Jinju from the chairman’s office.”

Jinju noona?

I opened the door.

The moment I saw her face, a faint memory surfaced.

“The chairman... told me to make sure I bring the young master to him.”

‘Young master.’

Words I had buried in the depths of my memory stabbed into my mind, and the past I thought I had erased forced its way in through the cracks of my old rooftop door.

“...”

Secretary Lee Jinju added nothing more.

She simply stood outside the door, quietly waiting for my answer.

That silence felt like a suffocating pressure.

The old man’s piercing eyes on the TV screen came to mind.

Rumors of poor health.

Three months in seclusion.

‘Fuck.’

It had been six years.

Six years since I ran from that godforsaken house.

I thought I had cut every tie myself.

And now, after all this time.

Why?

My heart began beating irregularly.

Was the bond of blood, buried beneath hatred and resentment, really this persistent?

Or was it merely curiosity, wanting to see the end of the giant who had once been my entire world?

I swallowed and opened my mouth.

“Is he... seriously ill?”

My voice came out trembling slightly.

“...”

The woman in front of me gave no answer.

Neither confirmation nor denial.

That silence was the worst possible answer.

‘I have to go.’

Whatever the reason, I had to see him with my own eyes.

If I sent her away now, I would not sleep tonight.

Maybe not for a long time after that, either.

“Okay.”

Once I made up my mind, my thoughts became calm instead.

“Let’s go. Give me a moment.”

I shut the door and went back inside.

I opened a drawer to find something to change into, but there was nothing suitable.

All I saw were stretched-out T-shirts and sweatpants with baggy knees.

In the end, I took out my cleanest pair of jeans and a black zip-up hoodie.

For the brief moment I shoved my meat-smoke-and-sweat-soaked body into clean clothes, I caught sight of myself in the grimy mirror.

Twenty-six-year-old Kang Daeun.

Part-timer at a charcoal-grilled meat restaurant.

Resident of a rooftop room.

‘Young master, huh.’

A hollow laugh escaped me.

It felt like forcing myself into clothes that did not fit.

When I roughly threw on my clothes and opened the door, Jinju noona was waiting without moving in front of the old stairs of my building.

She looked me over from head to toe, but her expression did not change at all.

We headed down the alley.

There, a large black sedan stood with its hazard lights flashing, its imposing presence unmistakable even in the dark.

A car I had ridden in until I was sick of it as a child.

The very car my grandfather rode in.

The rear door opened without a sound.

As I got into the car, the familiar yet alien scent of leather struck my nose.

The moment the door shut, every sound from outside was completely cut off.

It was a world entirely different from my rooftop room.

The car glided away.

I silently watched the scenery slip past the window.

I tried to hide my tangled emotions, but I could not stop my fingertips from turning cold.

How much time had passed?

The car entered the innermost special section of the underground parking garage at a large hospital in Gangnam, Seoul.

Following Secretary Lee Jinju’s guidance, I got out, passed through a door marked Authorized Personnel Only, and stepped into a private elevator.

The top floor.

The entire corridor was silent, as if it had been sealed off.

The thick carpet swallowed even the sound of footsteps.

It felt like a path leading to a hotel suite.

Before long, I stood in front of the heavy hospital-room door at the very end.

A metal plaque reading “VVIP” stood out clearly.

Secretary Lee Jinju opened the door.

I took a deep breath and entered.

The room was nothing like I had imagined.

Instead of antiseptic, there was the faint scent of air freshener.

Instead of all kinds of medical equipment meant to sustain life, the room was filled with luxurious furniture.

And then.

Thwack!

With a crisp impact, a white ball flew across the screen covering one wall of the room.

In front of it stood an old man in comfortable training clothes rather than a hospital gown, holding a golf club.

That back was far too familiar.

Stunned, I called out to him.

“...Grandfather?”

Only then did the old man slowly turn around.

A wrinkled face. Sharp eyes that remained as keen as ever.

He looked far healthier than he had on TV, so healthy that it was impossible to believe he was ill.

Frustration gave way to anger as I asked,

“...What are you doing right now?”

Setting the golf club down, my grandfather answered calmly.

“Can’t you see? I came to the hospital because I’m sick.”

“...”

I was speechless.

“What kind of patient sets up a screen golf course in their hospital room and plays golf?”

At my reproach, my grandfather chuckled as though he found it hilarious.

Then, as if to show me, he walked over to the bed and lay down beneath the covers.

For someone who had just made a powerful drive, he was remarkably skilled at playing the patient.

Leaning against the headboard with a groan, my grandfather looked at me.

At last, he spoke.

“You’ve played around long enough. Now get to work at the company.”

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