The Venn Diagram | Part 1a
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The Venn Diagram
by #angstcircle 2014
Part 1: The Meeting
1934
The wide brim of the young woman’s hat fluttered as she carefully peeked out of the airplane door, forcing her to her face to pinch only slightly as the bright morning light hit her face. She inhaled the fresh air long and deep, savoring the slightly humid taste of it in the back of her throat. She had always believed herself to be someone who could never be able to settle in one place, but being on Korean soil always felt like a soothing balm on her skin. Being away for close to a decade intensified the feeling of content she felt as she walked down airplane’s ladder. It was the closest to peace she was convinced she would ever feel and as she looked up at the clear blue sky, Kwon BoA was convinced that maybe (this time, in the instructions of her powerful father) she could finally have a home.
"You're back."
The voice’s loud but somber tone shot a rush of nostalgia through her veins, a full-blown smile forming on her lips as quickly as it took for her to rush down the concrete walkway and into her waiting father’s arms. Kwon Je-Chul was (is) a serious man and his name alone sent a quiver of fear through many in the city and the underground, but to BoA he’d only always been ‘Papa’ and so the sound of his voice was like music to her ears.
"I am," she replies after awhile, pulling back with a wistful smile as she squeezes her arms tight around her father’s waist. She laughs a little as he cups and pats her cheek in the way he always had when she was a child and he would only visit once or twice every few months. BoA steps back only just so to do a playful curtsy, smiling brighter now as her father’s face softens with affection, “I’m home, Papa.”
"It's been so long," Je-Chul tells her, brushing a hand over her head. He’d hardly recognized her when she stepped off the plane, all grown up and lady-like in her navy-blue dress, crème hat, jacket and pumps. "I've missed you so much, chère.”
"I’ve missed you too, Papa," she responds, rubbing his back a few times before pulling away. Boa had taken notice of the men surrounding them, dressed in black suits and wearing vacant expressions and knew immediately who and why they were chosen witness to their reunion. She could only make out the tell-tale lumps on their sides to be of the dangerous sort and with a sad (almost resentful) smile, she retreated further away from the happy glow of her homecoming. BoA had forgotten it for a moment but now she was reminded of the glaring clarity that was the reality of her father’s business.
“Let’s go home, BoA.” Her father says, holding out an arm which she takes immediately despite the chill she feels when the suited men around them fell in line on either side of them. She smiles at each of them and nods in greeting as they walk by, murmuring her thanks before ducking into the dark, stretch black limousine of the Kwon family.
~*~*~*~
Paris had been kind to Kwon Boa when she was sent to study and live with her mother at the tender age of fifteen. There had been so many places to see, so many people to meet and so many things to learn that she’d accepted her father’s instructions without hesitation, only too terribly excited at the prospect of feeding her curious mind than to wonder why she being sent away so far. After all, she mused, at fifteen she had already begun to make her mark in Seoul, doing well in her classes and forming a strong bond with one of the daughters of her father’s associates. She had been content to live in Korea despite the ferocity of her interest in ‘elsewhere’. She was happy.
And so it surprised her when her father sat her down on the eve of her 15th birthday and told her that he’d arranged for her to finish her secondary schooling in Paris.
“You’re going to live with Mama for a while, my dear,” he’d told her in a pinched manner that often came when Je-Chul spoke of her mother-his ex-wife. BoA and her mother had never been so close, and after the bitter separation of her parents well into her seven years of age, she hadn’t thought she’d see her mother again despite all of the tears and letters she’d sent her way.
But of course BoA would and eventually (surprisingly) through her father’s insistence.
“You always said you wanted to see the stained windows of Notre Dame. Your Mama told me she intends that to be your first activity together.”
She remembers nodding in excitement, only asking one question days later as her father stood back and watched her pack her bags.
“Will you come with us, Papa, to Notre Dame?”
Je-Chul’s smile then had the same somber feel to it as his tone of voice but it was a smile nonetheless and BoA loved her father all too dearly. He shook his head, patting her softly on the head, “I can’t, my dear. Papa has a lot of business to finish here.”
Looking back, BoA thinks that she should have known then what that meant.
All her life before Paris she’d known her name was special. She’d seen the reactions of her classmates faces in school-one half of them clambering to be her friend while the other half would scurry off to avoid her. She didn’t take it to heart when they did and it never really bothered her either. That is until the day of her flight to Europe, when she’d squeezed her father good-bye at the terminal and she’d caught a glimpse and felt the hard metal of a gun pressed against his side.
“How are your studies going?” Je-Chul asks over the purr of the car’s engine, snapping her out of her reverie. BoA blinks once before turning slightly and tilting her head to the side, a slightly dim expression on her face.
“They’re going well. I can’t wait for the next semester. October seems both too close and too far away somehow,” BoA answers, looking back out of the car window-watching as a few of her father’s men drove another car next to theirs. She’d been used to seeing a man or two with her father at all times outside of their home when she was fifteen, but she thought it was an exaggeration to have two cars full of armed men flanking their vehicle at either side. Pursing her lips together, BoA braved a glance at her father’s worn face and fidgeting fingers, calculating what to say about this strange development.
“I’m sure you and Sooyoung will be up to your old tricks again in no time at all,” he says as the car stops at a red light. His eyes glinted wistfully at his daughter, looking pointedly at her from his seat across. “Don’t even pretend to be so innocent otherwise. Your Uncle and I both know it was you two who swapped the red wine for raspberry juice at our table when you were both fifteen.”
BoA felt a bubble of laughter erupt from her throat. “Innocent until proven guilty, Papa. You have no proof of this alleged event! Sooyoung and I were sipping raspberry coolers the whole time you and Uncle and your associates had your stuffy old meeting.” She grinned at him sweetly. “But I’m glad you mentioned Sooyoung. I’ll call her immediately once we get home.”
“You won’t have to. I asked her to plan a homecoming party so she’ll be there the very second you step off the car.”
“Well, that’s convenient.” BoA said dryly, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t think old-timers like you enjoyed throwing parties.”
Je-Chul shook his head, patting cheek in a way that made her feel like she was five years old. “As long as it’s a party for my one and only daughter, I’ll make an exception.”
Then a lull of silence crept in after that and BoA’s happy demeanor dampened once again. Glancing at out her window, then at her father and then at the window by his side, she noticed once again how closely her father’s men followed them on the way and the trembling way her father drummed his fingers on his knee. The mention of a party was curious enough to send her mind reeling, but all of the other peculiar things-the cars, the armed men, the drumming-were beginning to tear on her mood.
“Papa… is there something I should know?”
~*~*~*~
This wasn’t what I’d signed up for, Jung Yunho thought grumpily, gulping the liquid down and out of the glass of brandy he’d asked from the bartender before slamming it down on his table. He waved for another, rolling his eyes as a few women from one of the tables arranged around the ballroom studied him appreciatively from under their cloud of smoke.
He wasn’t the type to dress to the nines and loiter around in a frou-frou party. Even though he was still technically on the job… albeit on an assignment he still hadn’t decided was good for him or not.
He’d been a part of the Kwon mob family’s security detail since he was sixteen and was tried in court as an orphan and juvenile delinquent. The mob’s patriarch, Kwon Je-Chul, had stepped in before he was taken into foster care-using his power to curb the judge into letting him take the young Yunho under his wing. He’d been grateful and working diligently for the family ever since then, training constantly to ensure he was at his optimum best to protect Je-Chul and the business at all costs.
Yunho, along with his good friend and rival Kim Jaejoong, is an important member in the Kwon family ‘business’. He knew well enough to run whatever assignment Je-Chul handed over to him and often times did more than what was asked for him. He was competitive, a hard-worker and skilled thug. He was the right hand of the patriarch and that alone assured anyone who knew of the Kwon family and their business that Jung Yunho is of the best of men.
But this new job his surrogate father had given him was the oddest of them all. If not the most ridiculous he’s ever been asked to do.
Je-Chul had asked him to his study weeks ago, sitting him down as the patriarch paced. Yunho had arrived ready for anything but he hadn’t expected the orders he would receive that day:
“Yunho, you are about the only other person I can trust with what I’m about to ask of you to do for me. You are practically the son I wish I had and so this assignment can only fall on your shoulders and no one else’s.”
Yunho nodded solemnly, his back straight as Je-Chul rounded the table and put his hands on the wood. The head of Kwon family fixed him with a steely gaze and Yunho took a deep and steady breath to ready himself to accept whatever task was appointed to him.
“My daughter, BoA, will be coming home in a few weeks and I want you to make sure she’s safe while she’s here.”
His brows furrowed together as the words sunk in. Taking a step forward, Yunho narrowed his eyes and spoke lightly, “Sir… do you mean… as a bodyguard?”
“Yes, exactly that.”
This time he shook his head, unsure of what to make of the task. He’d never met the patriach’s daughter before. He had heard she was sent to study in Europe two years before Je-Chul took him under his care and so knew nothing about who she was and what her homecoming was for. In fact, Yunho was certain he was only one left who hadn’t met Je-Chul’s daughter as he was the only one to come into the business from the outside.
“Excuse me for asking but wouldn’t Jaejoong be better for the task? I know next to nothing about your daughter but I know he does and-”
“Jaejoong does know my daughter.” Je-Chul agreed, sinking down onto his seat and leaning back-watching Yunho carefully as he spoke, “But his entire life has been gearing towards something much more important. And while I’m certain he can do this job just as well you could, I need him to be with me during this time. I trust you to protect my daughter, Yunho. I expect nothing but the best from you.”
Yunho couldn’t find it in himself to refuse after that. And while he knew this was something he did not want to do, he buckled up and accepted it without another word.
Jaejoong had assured him later that BoA was a good girl and that he wouldn’t have much trouble with her. Still, a body guard for a 20-year old woman? A babysitter more like. Yunho scoffed, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. His eyes focused on the grand doors and waited for the Kwon family’s patriarch and her daughter to appear. He didn’t like this job but he would do it for Kwon Je-Chul. He owed him that much.
The grand doors swing open then, just as he’d raised his glass to down his drink and the crowd immediately falls silent. Yunho swallows the alcohol, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before looking up-and stopping his breath.
2014
The Seoul Times
KIM MATERIALS FACTORY VANDALISED BY DELINQUENT
by Kwon Yuri
July 11, 2014
Large-scale vandalism greets the workers at a furniture manufacturing factory in downtown Seoul in the early hours of Friday, July 11th.
Lee Howon, a security personnel in charge of opening the factory, is welcomed by a mural of graffiti spanning three walls and a great portion of the parking lot, depicting gas masks and various hazardous warning symbols along with an ambiguous Silent Killer written in the pictures.
“There was a girl sitting there, pacing back and forth, when I got to the factory at 5 a.m.,” Lee tells the news reporters. “She smiled when she saw me, pointed out her artwork to me and told that the East Wing walls had the important stuff and the rest was her getting bored and carried away.”
Police officers arrive shortly after Lee contacts them and identifies the girl to be an 18-year-old high school senior named Jung Soojung.
“There is no immediate connection to explain the crime,” explains Police Inspector Park Insung. “There are speculations, however, that it’s a rebellious act since Ms. Jung’s late father was a worker in this factory.”
"We will make sure a thorough investigation is undertaken and will cooperate with police,” factory owner Kim Jinho responds to further questions. “Ms. Jung is an orphaned child and on our part, we will surely show leniency and benevolence with the understanding of her losses in the past."
Work resumes tomorrow as the factory is closed for the rest of the day; however, cleanup is expected to start later this week.
||+||+||+||
Pulling at the hem of her skirt uncomfortably, Soojung sighs as she gazes out the car window. The upholstery is pure leather, the door handles glinting in the light to the point of being almost blinding. She doesn’t quite know why she agreed to coming in the first place, but here she is now, en route to the Kim residence. She supposes it’s a bit better than being shuffled around foster homes and switching schools all the time, getting used to the idea of family again only to be shuttled to the next one (not that she really minds - the closest she ever had to a real friend was a boy named Taemin when they were in 7th grade, and even then, he had promised to keep in touch after she moved away but she never heard one word from him ever again).
“Soojung,” the driver says from the front. She remains silent, but he continues when he catches her cold stare through the mirror. “As I’m sure you know, Mr. and Mrs. Kim are huge names in the manufacturing business so always be on your best behavior when they’re around. Always bow, always keep your composure, and always answer with a smile…”
She tunes out after that because it’s all stuff she’s heard before. She’ll be on her best behavior regardless, despite what they may expect. By the time she steps out of the black Audi, she’s a bit dizzy and takes a few seconds to balance in the heels that they made her wear (to look presentable, they had said). She couldn’t understand why sneakers were so offensive.
A butler greets her and leads her into a sitting room next to the grand foyer. “Please wait a while, miss. Make yourself at home.” She scoffs. Home, she thinks. Yeah, right.
Soojung keeps her eyes trained on the painting hanging on the wall in front of her, taking deep breaths. She hears footsteps and turns around, bowing slightly when she sees Mr. and Mrs. Kim. They are both in classic business attire, tailored suits and ironed shirts, and she wonders if it ever gets tiring, having to keep one’s composure like that all the time.
“Soojung,” Mr. Kim says with a smile. “Welcome to our home.”
Soojung nods, forcing herself to smile at least a little. Mrs. Kim laughs, and her heart clenches a little because it kind of reminds her of her own mom.
“I’m sure we’ll get to know each other better as time goes on. I’ll have Chorong show you your room.” She nods at the maid standing by the doorway of the sitting room.
Mrs. Kim continues: “My husband is holding a campaign event tonight. We would love it if you came. You’re free to pick from any of the dresses in your closet.”
“Ah, unfortunately, our son Jongin is not here to introduce himself,” Mr. Kim adds. “He’s tasked to look after you in adjusting to life here. I’m sure you’ll be good friends. You’ll see him at the event tonight.”
They don’t really give her the chance to talk but Soojung doesn’t really mind. “Any questions?” they ask, but she simply shakes her head. They seem pleasantly surprised at her lack of “acting up” and she almost rolls her eyes. Self- control, best behavior- sometimes it gets overdone reminding her own self about these things.
“You may go up to your room then,” Mrs. Kim says, gesturing toward a girl standing on the side. Soojung picks up her duffle bag and follows the maid up the winding stairs. She nods gratefully to Chorong before plopping down on the bed, half dozing off and half thinking.
Well, I’m here. The entire situation feels weird, she supposes. But she sets her jaw in determination, willing herself to make the best of it. For my parents, for Sooyeon, she tells herself.
She sits up, looking around her room, and it’s larger than any other bedroom she’s had. A huge room in an even bigger mansion. The emptiness of it all is rather intimidating, the wallpaper is pastel, and the furniture is minimal, sleek, but impersonal. It’s not a bad place to be, she figures - she’s grateful for a roof over her head. She slumps back down on her back, looking at the white ceiling.
She recalls his name - Jongin - and for a brief moment, she allows herself to imagine what it would be like to have a good friend again, but then her thoughts are interrupted with the fact that he’s the heir to the family company and she’s not quite sure how she feels about that.
But she’s exhausted from the entire day, that’s for sure. She curls up in her blankets for a quick nap, but it is a restless sleep - a restless sleep for a restless heart.
||+||+||+||
Coat and tie. Knowing his mother, they’ll be laid out in the back of the van, ironed and hung in one of the dressing rooms of the convention hall, the suit sleeker than any man’s in the event.
Which is funny, he smirks at his reflection in the mirror, because he’s not even a political figure nor will his presentation tonight matter to people’s votes in the next elections. He’s assigned to watch out for someone who’s going to be though, and that may require more than his patience.
Tonight he arrives a little later than eight, still in what appears to be his workout clothes, sneakers and a hoodie by his waist, and everyone is already dinning. Back doors are lifesavers, and the butlers lead him to have a quick change.
“Sir, your mother is quite concerned. She expected you to be more punctual, especially tonight.”
“Yeah, well I expected her to be less rash,” he snaps back, hoping the man gets the point about that delinquent living with them. Tactless really, Jongin firmly believes that it’ll be useless - he’s seen the surveys, read the polls in the newspapers: his father isn’t going to catch anyone’s sympathy (read: vote) by holding lavish campaign events and exuberant advertisements, let alone adopt a delinquent in the childcare system that he has no obligation to. It’s true this is his father’s business, it’s just that this decision affects the whole family, and Jongin hasn’t even met her yet. But it’s not as if he can refuse his parents.
“Remember when we went camping in the woods and found a whole herd of squirrels? They were practically hoarding the nuts for winter!”
He closes his eyes, smiling to himself while fixing his tie. “You don’t call it a herd, noona.”
“I know, Jongin, I’m just playing with you,” her voice sounds clearer than his own, her presence suddenly fixing his tie for him. “But if we run away from camp that far again, and dad had to tow the family van out of quicksand, I guess a little adventure isn’t always ever wrong.”
Run away… a little adventure. Opening his eyes to find nobody in the room but his well-groomed reflection at the front, Jongin shakes his head - another incident like this and he’s going to lose it. It’s borderline hallucination. He lets out a tsk when he finds that the pair of leathers on his feet had splatters of mud. Without another word, he cleans them himself, clearing his head out and remembering in the first place why he has enough of adventures.
The family business isn’t going to run itself, he thinks with one last look at himself. Sometimes he pretends he knows what he’s doing but as long as it gets his parents off his back every once in awhile, he’ll live through it.
Well, he hopes to.
||+||+||+||
Soojung isn’t exactly fond of being thrown into a sea of strangers, but here she is now, constantly mobbed by high-profile politicians and business people. “You are Jung Soojung, am I right?” a man and his wife practically float toward her, champagne glasses in their hands.
“Y-yes. Hello,” she bows, quite flustered and tucking a stray hair behind her ear. She remembers not to say too much, as recommended by Chorong while they had been making her look presentable. She wishes Chorong had put on more hair spray or bobby pins because she feels like she’s falling apart due to social anxiety.
The couple next to her asks her some more questions about how she likes it at the Kim residence so far and informs her of how fortunate she is, but Soojung can barely make out what they are saying because of all the background noise, and her nerves prevent her from processing their comments even if she could hear.
“I’m sorry, please excuse me,” her cheeks burning pink, she politely bows again, ignoring the chatter and gossip (with her as the subject, no doubt). She awkwardly steps away, almost losing her balance as she ducks in between guests balancing champagne flutes, (she really should start practicing at this rate) as she makes her way from the lobby to the main ballroom in the hopes there’d be more breathing space.
Inside the ballroom, Jongin sits at a table with a glass of wine, his scrutinizing gaze sweeping across all the guests on the floor. He doesn’t know what he’s really expecting, considering that the girl in question is a teenage delinquent and he’s not quite sure how those are supposed to look like. He briefly pictures a girl entering the function clad in black leather and aviators and maybe a gun in her belt, and almost laughs to himself at the absurdity of it all. He gulps down some more wine in nervousness, saying to himself that he’s not curious about who she is, but the sweat in his palms and the quickening beat inside his chest seem to tell him otherwise.
part 1b