Second to None

Chapter 17 Part 4: Rivals, For Now

*One year later*

The headline on every business site in Korea was the same:

*“Hanwu’s Rael Han and Tech Mogul Jihan Kim Announce Joint Venture. Rivals or Partners?”*

Rael read it in his office at 2:14 AM, coffee gone cold, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up. He snorted.

His phone buzzed on the desk. Jihan.

_Did you see this? “Rivals to Roommates” is trending._

Rael typed back: _We don’t share a room._

_Yet,_ Jihan replied. Then, a beat later: _My penthouse has better coffee. And a view._

Rael didn’t answer. But he didn’t delete the trend either.

He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. One year ago, Jihan Kim was the enemy. The guy who’d known Eun Rin before Rael ever did, who’d looked at her like she was glass.

---

*Six months earlier*

It hadn’t been supposed to happen like this.

They’d been dragged onto the same stage at the Seoul Tech Expo. Jihan’s startup had just been acquired. Rael’s division at Hanwu was rolling out civilian disaster AI. The panel was titled “The Future of Korean Tech.” The moderator expected polite disagreement.

They gave him a bloodbath.

For twenty minutes they tore into each other. Jihan called Rael’s approach “militarized paranoia.” Rael called Jihan’s “naive capitalism with better UI.” The moderator tried to step in. They talked over him.

Then someone in the back yelled: “Are you two dating or what?”

The audience went silent.

Jihan blinked. Rael’s jaw ticked. And then, at the exact same moment, they both laughed. Real laughs. The kind that slipped out before they could stop them.

The clip hit Twitter within an hour. By midnight, 2 million views. By morning, t****k edits everywhere: slow-mo of them leaning over the podium, audio of Jihan saying “you’re impossible” and Rael replying “you’re worse,” captions like _“the tension”_ and _“marry me, both of you.”_

They didn’t talk about it.

Not until three weeks later, when Jihan showed up at Hanwu HQ unannounced, holding a USB.

“You’re using outdated encryption on your civilian AI,” he said, dropping it on Rael’s desk. “I fixed it.”

Rael stared at the USB. Then at Jihan. “Why?”

“Because if your system gets hacked and kills someone, my company’s name is still attached to the joint venture we’re gonna announce next quarter,” Jihan said flatly. “So fix your shit.”

Rael should’ve thrown him out. Instead, he plugged in the USB.

It worked.

After that, it got worse. Or better.

Late-night strategy sessions turned into 2 AM ramen runs. Ramen turned into drinks they never finished because they’d end up whiteboarding ideas on bar napkins. Drinks turned into Jihan showing up at Rael’s office with coffee, and Rael showing up at Jihan’s penthouse with code.

They didn’t call it friendship.

They called it “mutually beneficial antagonism.”

But the truth was simpler: they were the only two people in Korea who understood what it meant to build something for a girl who wasn’t there.

They never said her name. Not out loud. But every night, before bed, both of them checked the same thing: Haeundae. Apartment 304. The light was still on.

---

*Three months in*

The media started noticing.

First, a photo of them leaving a late-night meeting, Rael in a black coat, Jihan in a hoodie, both laughing at something on Jihan’s phone.

Then a video of them arguing on stage at a startup pitch event, then bumping shoulders on the way off, then Jihan handing Rael a bottle of water without looking.

*“Seoul’s Coldest CEO and Its Hottest Startup Founder: What’s Really Going On?”*

*“From Rivals to Roommates: The Bromance That’s Shaking Korea’s Tech World”*

*“Ladies, It’s Over: Rael Han and Jihan Kim Spotted Leaving Gala Together”*

Fan edits exploded. Slow-mo of them bumping shoulders. Captions like _“the tension”_ and _“protect them at all costs.”_ Comments: _“THEY’RE IN LOVE”_ and _“NO, THEY’RE JUST HOT.”_

Jihan sent Rael one at 1 AM: _We’re trending again. Do you want me to sue them?_

Rael replied: _No. It’s good PR._ Then, a second later: _You’re impossible._

Jihan: _You’re worse._

At the launch party for Hanwu x KimTech, a reporter cornered them by the bar.

“Mr. Han, Mr. Kim, the public wants to know— what changed? You two used to hate each other.”

Rael glanced at Jihan. Jihan glanced back.

Rael answered: “We realized there were more important things to fight for.”

Jihan added: “And we’re both really bad at losing.”

The reporter blinked. “So… you’re friends?”

Rael shrugged. “Something like that.”

Jihan grinned. “Don’t make it weird.”

The clip got 3 million views in a day.

After, in the car, Jihan broke the silence.

“If she comes back,” he said, staring out the window, “we’re screwed.”

Rael didn’t pretend not to know who “she” was. “Yeah.”

“We’ll go right back to hating each other,” Jihan said. It wasn’t a question.

“Probably,” Rael said.

They drove in silence. Then Jihan said, “Good. I was getting bored.”

Rael almost smiled. “Don’t get used to this.”

“I won’t,” Jihan said. “The second she walks back in, it’s war again.”

“Deal,” Rael said.

They shook hands. First time they’d ever touched without wanting to punch each other.

---

*The truth no one printed*

They were friends now.

Not close. Not soft. But the kind of friends who could sit in silence for an hour, working on separate laptops, and still feel like they weren’t alone. The kind who’d built empires not to win, but to wait.

Rael had taken over Hanwu’s R&D division. 18-hour days, slept in his office, turned down every invite. The board called him obsessive. He didn’t care. Every contract, every patent, was one step closer to making sure she’d never have to run again.

Jihan had launched his own AI firm, poached engineers from Google and Naver, turned his family’s money into something that was _his_. He bought a penthouse in Seoul with a direct line to Busan’s traffic cams. Just in case.

They barely spoke. A text every few weeks:

_Anything?_

_No._

_You?_

_No._

But both checked Apartment 304 every night.

Six months later, Rael became Hanwu’s youngest executive director. Net worth: eight figures. He bought a small house in Busan under an alias. Empty rooms. A crib in the corner. Waiting.

Jihan’s startup got acquired for 40 million USD. He didn’t celebrate. He opened a trust fund under the name “Sora Lee.” Just in case.

One night, Rael texted Jihan: _She posted something. Anonymous forum. Said the baby kicked hard today._

Jihan replied in ten seconds: _I saw._

They didn’t say anything else.

---

*Back in Busan, Apartment 304*

Sora stood at the small kitchen counter, knife in hand, cutting strawberries for tea. The apartment smelled like warm water and the faint antiseptic from the clinic downstairs. Outside, the sea was loud tonight.

She was thinking about Rael.

She always thought about Rael when her hands were busy. It was easier that way. She could pretend he was right there, leaning against the counter, sleeves rolled up, telling her she was cutting the strawberries wrong.

“You’re gonna take off your thumb if you keep slicing like that,” she imagined him saying, voice low, exasperated, fond.

She smiled at the empty kitchen. “Then you’d have to feed me,” she whispered back.

She reached for another strawberry, and in her head, Rael reached too. His hand covered hers, guiding the knife. His chest was warm against her back. She could feel him teasing her, like he always did, like he had on that rainy rooftop a year ago.

“See? Like this,” imagined-Rael murmured. “Slow. You’re pregnant, not in a race.”

She laughed. The knife slipped.

Pain, sharp and sudden, bloomed across her palm. She gasped. Blood welled up, bright red against the white fruit.

“Damn it,” she hissed, dropping the knife. She grabbed a towel, pressed it to her hand. Her heart was pounding, not from the cut, but from the way she’d _felt_ him there, like he was real.

“Rael,” she whispered, and her voice broke.

The baby kicked. Hard. Not a flutter. A full, angry jab, right under her ribs, like it had heard her say his name.

Sora froze. The towel went damp with blood.

“Hey,” she whispered to her stomach. “Hey, baby. I’m okay.”

Another kick. Insistent.

She closed her eyes. When she opened them, the kitchen was empty again. No Rael. Just her, bleeding, talking to herself.

But the baby had reacted. Like it missed him too.

She pressed her bloody palm to her stomach. “I know,” she whispered. “I miss him too.”

She loved Rael more. She’d known it since the rooftop. Since the rain. Since he’d said “let it be real” and meant it. Jihan was kind, and steady, and he’d waited too. But Rael— Rael was the one she dreamed about when she cut fruit. Rael was the one the baby kicked for.

She sank to the floor, back against the cabinet, towel still pressed to her hand.

“I’m not ready,” she whispered to no one. “But I’m trying.”

Her phone buzzed on the counter. A text from an unknown number: _Anything?_

She didn’t answer. But she didn’t delete it either.

---

*Later that night*

Rael was in his office when his phone lit up. Jihan.

_You up?_

Rael: _Always._

_I checked 304. Light’s on. She’s moving around a lot tonight._

Rael closed his eyes. _Yeah._

_If she comes back,_ Jihan typed, _we’re screwed._

_I know,_ Rael replied.

_Good,_ Jihan said. _I was getting bored._

Rael set the phone down. Outside his window, Seoul glittered, indifferent. Inside, he pressed a hand to his chest, right where her necklace used to sit.

“Come back when you’re ready, Sora,” he whispered. “And then we’ll fight.”

---