1 .The search began with the same ruthless efficiency Min-Joon applied to hostile takeovers. He had tasked his entire security and investigation team with a single goal: find the original source of the image Hae-Rin had sketched—the woman under the snow—and trace its inspiration. It was an impossible assignment, yet the teams moved, driven by the chilling intensity of the Chairman's focus.
Hae-Rin, sitting quietly at her desk, allowed the chaos to subside. She knew the woman—Min-Joon's true destiny—could not be found through databases or surveillance. She had to be found through the resonance of her sincere heart.
"Chairman Kim," Hae-Rin announced, stepping into his office exactly ten minutes after he had given the search order. "Your methods are too wide. The search for a genuine heart requires a genuine path, not a massive net."
Min-Joon, already frustrated by the lack of concrete leads, looked up sharply. "Then give me a path, Hae-Rin. Stop speaking in riddles. Where is she?"
Hae-Rin smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling with an enchanting light. "She is in a place where Pyar is being built, not bought. A place where a project is struggling, not succeeding. She is currently facing a formidable obstacle that tests the strength of her will."
She walked over to the digital map of Seoul Min-Joon used for geo-targeting investments. She pointed a slender finger at a quiet, industrial area in the western part of the city—a district known more for small manufacturers than for technology or finance.
"She runs a small cultural foundation here, specializing in restoring old Korean textiles and historical art pieces. It is facing imminent closure due to a severe financial shortfall and a bureaucratic technicality."
Min-Joon frowned, his ambition insulted. "A textile restoration foundation? That's entirely irrelevant to K.M. Holdings."
"It is entirely relevant to your heart, Chairman Kim," Hae-Rin countered gently. "You must go there, not as a strategist, but as a silent observer. She needs assistance that respects her passion, not a takeover that replaces it."
Min-Joon, driven by the lingering fear of his nightmare, yielded. He instructed his driver to take them to the specified address.
The drive was a stark contrast to his usual trajectory. They left the gleaming towers of Gangnam and entered a maze of brick and corrugated iron. The address led them to a modestly sized, aging building with a hand-painted sign: "Jae-Hyun Cultural Restoration Institute."
"This is it," Hae-Rin confirmed, stepping out of the luxurious sedan. "We go in now."
"Go in?" Min-Joon bristled, checking his tailored suit. "I don't simply 'go in' without an appointment. I will send my Chief of Staff to make an assessment, and we can schedule a corporate donation."
"No," Hae-Rin said, turning to him, her eyes holding his gaze with unexpected firmness. "You will go in as a private citizen. You will encounter the obstacle as she faces it. You must experience her sincerity firsthand. This is a test of your empathy, Chairman. Not your balance sheet."
Min-Joon hesitated, deeply uncomfortable with the lack of structure and status. But the memory of the betrayal was a strong whip. He followed her inside.
The interior was a blend of organized chaos. Large, half-finished restoration projects lay draped over worktables; the air smelled faintly of dust, natural dyes, and old silk. In the center of the largest room, a woman was standing on a small stool, desperately trying to reattach a heavy, faded velvet drape to a high support beam.
The woman was beautiful, yes, but not with the cold, practiced elegance of Seo-Yun or Choi Min-Joo. Her beauty was earnest; her face smudged with dust, her hair escaping its clip, and her brow furrowed in concentration and stress. She was Min-Joon's "woman under the snow," now bathed in the honest light of her own strenuous effort.
As they watched, the stool wobbled, and the woman lost her balance, sending the heavy velvet drape cascading down, pulling several tools and a small bucket of water with it.
The woman cried out in frustration and sank to the floor, her shoulders slumped in defeat.
Hae-Rin nudged Min-Joon gently. "Her name is Ji-A. Her obstacle is not the curtain. It is the overwhelming burden of fighting alone."
Min-Joon, watching the woman's genuine frustration, felt an unfamiliar, uncomfortable pang—it was not pity, but a recognition of true, uncalculated effort.
"Help her, Chairman Kim," Hae-Rin commanded softly. "Not with your money. With your hands."