Dirty Switch

A considerable number of reporters had gathered like a swarm of clouds. Cameras, lights, microphones all bundled together—it had already turned into ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) a full-fledged press scene in minutes.
“What the fuck? These guys are following you, right?”
“No.”
Neither of them, nor the police station itself, had anything major scheduled for today. It wasn’t like he would’ve come here without confirming that first. Something clearly had just blown up on short notice. Seo Baekhan immediately reached out to contacts among the press and Secretary Nam to assess the situation.
“What the hell is this, some celebrity appearance?”
“…No.”
“Really? Then what’s going on?”
Thankfully, Secretary Nam replied right away.
010-0000-0000
Director, someone named Kang Bunam has submitted notice of intent to file a complaint against Young Master Joo Taehyun.
“Kang Bunam. Looks like one of Taehyun’s relatives is trying to sue him.”
“What?”
010-0000-0000
Full details are still unclear, but apparently it’s been less than 30 minutes since Kang’s team started calling reporters.
There was an event nearby, so many reporters were already gathered in the area. Seems they planned the timing around that.
…And the press offices were nearby, too, so it wouldn’t be hard to pull extra people in. Every bit of it reeked of a cheap, calculated setup.
“What the—? Shit, Baekhan, what do we do? Wait until the crowd clears before going in?”
“No. Better to call it off today. We should analyze what kind of bullshit they’re spewing first.”
It was unfortunate timing. If they’d known, of course they would’ve rearranged the schedule. In a way, it was lucky they’d arrived early and could stay out of sight.
“Should I pull the car out? Can you move to the back seat right now?”
“Dude, I told you, it’s all lies!”
They were weighing their options when someone’s loud shouting pierced through the windows.
“They expect us to believe a plastic stick when even live ultrasound footage could be faked these days?! What kind of circus are they running!”
A crowd had gathered at the police station entrance. Hard to see through all the people, but Kang Bunam must have arrived.
“Whoa. That guy’s Kang Bunam?”
“Looks like it.”
“Man, he doesn’t look anything like Taehyun.”
Baekhan hadn’t seen him in person either, but he fully agreed with what people said—that Kang Bunam was basically a stranger, nowhere near what you’d call family to DH Group. Not that one should judge by appearance or tone, but Kang was short and squat, nothing about him evoking anyone in the DH family. And unlike Taehyun’s low, elegant voice, Kang’s was coarse, vulgar, even crass.
“Mr. Kang, are you saying you believe Joo Taehyun’s press conference was a lie?”
They had to know he wasn’t trustworthy—but reporters, starved for fresh meat, looked visibly thrilled.
“Exactly. Come on, people. He’s even at Donghwa Hospital! If you wanted to fake something like this, it’d be the easiest thing in the world!”

Whether he’d seen it on TV or not, Kang Bunam pulled a thin envelope from his coat. The front read, in large letters: Complaint.
“Yeah, alright. I’ve had enough. I’m here to claim what’s rightfully mine. Just because I’m technically related to the DH Group, I’ve kept quiet through all sorts of bullshit—but watching that kid stand in front of every reporter in the country and tell boldfaced lies? I couldn’t let that slide!”
“Baekhan, what the hell is that guy even talking about?”
Choi Yeonjun, straining to hear what was happening outside, finally snapped and blurted out his confusion.
“He wants his fair share? What the fuck does that have to do with Taehyun’s press conference being fake?”
“He wants to use Taehyun’s character as an excuse to take something—maybe stock, maybe money. Whatever he can.”
“Then shouldn’t he be throwing a tantrum at the shareholder meeting? What’s he doing here?”
“Exactly.”
Baekhan didn’t understand Kang’s claims either, and neither, clearly, did anyone else.
Still, one thing was obvious—why Kang had chosen to target Taehyun’s pregnancy in particular.
He wanted to plant doubt about the press conference. Stir up filthy rumors again.
And the reporters? They’d do anything for clicks. Later, they’d act like they were just doing their job—reporting the day’s events—like that excused anything.
“Haa…”
Whether Kang Bunam was doing this on his own or being used by someone else—it was sickening.
“Yeonjun. Give me the papers.”
Maybe that was why.
Seo Baekhan suddenly didn’t want to think about plans anymore.
That kind of thing had been pointless from the moment he imprinted on Joo Taehyun.
“Huh? What, did we forget something—? Hey, Baekhan!”
Startled by Baekhan’s abrupt movement, Yeonjun grabbed his arm as he passed over the documents.
“Hold up, why are you undoing your seatbelt?”
“I’m going to submit the complaint myself.”
“What?! Right now?”
“Yeah, right now.”
“Are you insane? There are so many reporters out there! You walk out there now—”
“They’ll be camped here all day hoping to catch something. There’s no way not one of them recognizes us. If we hide, it’ll only look worse.”
Sure, he was being impulsive. But it wasn’t without thought.
Director Seo Baekhan, caught silently watching as Kang Bunam filed a complaint.
Why didn’t he act? What was he doing in the parking lot all along?
Baekhan could already see the headlines. Unlike Kang, who handed them juicy soundbites, he’d been completely silent—just another reason for the press to turn on him harder.
“Still, come on. There’s gotta be a better way. This isn’t like you! You always think five moves ahead!”
…Yeonjun had a point.
Was this really the best move?
Of course not. There were cleaner, smarter solutions.
Baekhan knew that, too. He wasn’t walking out there to avoid getting caught—he was using that as an excuse.
And acting on a whim like this wasn’t really his style. Thinking on his feet in emergencies and impulsively charging into a mess were very different things.
But his body moved on its own.
He was painfully aware—even Yeonjun was trying to stop him, that’s how uncharacteristic he was acting. And yet—
Taehyun’s hesitant voice, asking if he’d seen the baby with his own eyes.
Taehyun’s tear-streaked face, crying, Why are you doing this to me?
Taehyun’s empty stare that morning, saying, It’s not like my opinion ever mattered in anything you decided to do anyway.
It all lit a fire in Baekhan’s gut.
Was this because of the imprint?
No. It wasn’t.
Baekhan finally understood: in the end, this was all his decision.
Even if the chaos stemmed from imprint-induced impulses, there were ways to suppress them. There were treatments for uncontrolled pheromone reactions. He could’ve at least gotten sedatives from a psychiatrist.
He chose not to.
He’d known, and still he let this happen. He pushed Taehyun to this point with full awareness.
“Baekhan. Think again. You go out now, it’s gonna be a goddamn bloodbath.”
“I know. That’s exactly why I’m going.”
“You serious?! You're gonna throw away your public image? Everything you worked for—just like that?”
A group that had been getting out of a nearby car paused when they spotted the hem of Baekhan’s robe poking through the barely-open door.
“I know. That, too.”
Baekhan responded bluntly and threw the door open.
“And DH Group needs a full investigation. Journalists, what’s that word? When bigwigs work out secret deals—there’s gotta be some fancy term for it—”
“Wait, isn’t that Director Seo Baekhan?”
Someone in the crowd shouted, and the murmur exploded. Flashes began popping from every angle.
Holding the envelope carefully so it wouldn’t crease, Seo Baekhan strode forward toward the reporters.
“Director Seo! This way, please!”
“Director Seo!”
Kang Bunam’s face, jaw slack with shock, was worth a million dollars.
“Fucking hell, I swear to God, Seo Baekhan, because of you…”
Yeonjun pushed through the crowd, trying to shield him, gritting his teeth. He seemed to be holding back the curses for the sake of the cameras.
“Director Seo!”
“Yes, hello.”
“Is your visit today related to Mr. Kang Bunam’s complaint?”
“I know this is sudden. Let’s take a breath and get started, shall we?”
If this impulse was truly his—his own will, his own desire…
Then he didn’t want to hide behind the imprint anymore.
He was done pretending.