45: Chapter 45 The girl wants to repay him with her body

On Jeju Island, there was a private hospital built by the sea, known for its top-tier medical services and privacy protection. The air was filled with the scents of disinfectant, flowers, and the slightly salty, clean breeze from the ocean in the distance.

Unlike ordinary hospitals, it wasn't noisy or crowded; instead, it felt like a high-end resort hotel. Not many people were passing by, their footsteps were light, and their conversations were hushed.

Park So-yeon followed the room number her sister had sent and took a private elevator to the top-floor VIP area. The hallway was covered with thick carpet, making her footsteps silent. The walls were a soft off-white, adorned with abstract decorative paintings.

Each room had an independent lounge area and a small reception room at the entrance. It was so quiet here that she could hear her own slightly hurried heartbeat and breathing.

She stood before a door marked "V-803," took several deep breaths, and then raised her slightly trembling hand to knock gently. Although her sister had said in the message that their mother's condition was stable, her heart remained suspended, unable to settle until she saw her with her own eyes.

The door opened quickly from the inside, revealing her sister, Park So-ah. The little girl's eyes were red and swollen, clearly having cried, but upon seeing her sister, she still tried to pull a smile, lunged forward to hug her, and said with a tearful voice, "Unnie! You're finally here!"

Park So-yeon hugged her sister back, gently patting her back, while her gaze eagerly looked past her shoulder into the room.

The room was even more spacious and bright than she had imagined. Outside the large floor-to-ceiling windows was a meticulously maintained courtyard garden, and in the distance, the azure horizon could be faintly seen. The room included an independent bathroom, a small kitchen, a sofa for guests, and even a caregiver's bed.

Her mother was lying on the large, comfortable hospital bed in the center of the room, connected to some monitoring equipment, with the numbers on the screens pulsing rhythmically.

She currently looked much better than Park So-yeon had expected. Although her complexion was still somewhat pale, her spirit seemed good; upon hearing the commotion, she had already turned her head to look toward the door.

"Mom..." Park So-yeon let go of her sister and hurried to the bedside. Her voice choked up instantly, and the composure she had forced herself to maintain along the way almost shattered. She took hold of her mother's slightly cold hand as it reached out.

"Soyeon is here." Her mother's voice was somewhat weak, but her eyes were gentle as she held her daughter's hand in return, looking her up and down. "Are you tired from the flight? Why is your complexion so poor? Have you not been eating or sleeping well again?"

The familiar nagging made Park So-yeon's eyes burn at this moment.

She shook her head and forced a smile. "I'm not tired. Mom, how are you feeling? Does it still hurt?"

"Much better, really. It's all thanks to your President... he sent a private car and personnel to pick me up for the transfer, arranged such a good room, and hired the best experts for a consultation... the surgery went very smoothly."

Her mother gently patted the back of her hand, her gaze settling on her face with relief and a hint of complexity. "Soyeon, this new President of yours is truly a very good person."

Her mother's words were filled with gratitude, but also carried a hint of cautious probing.

Park So-yeon could understand; such an unreasonable, almost "luxurious" level of care would make anyone feel suspicious and uneasy, especially for a normal family like theirs.

"Yes, the President... he is a good person and takes great care of the artists under the company." Park So-yeon lowered her head, avoiding her mother's inquisitive gaze, her fingers unconsciously stroking the tape marks on the back of her mother's hand left by the IV.

She didn't know how to explain Song Tianhao's actions; even she hadn't fully digested this overly heavy "kindness."

"You must repay him properly, do you hear me?" Her mother's voice was very soft, yet carried an unquestionable seriousness. "We must remember this favor. You need to work harder and not cause the President any trouble..."

"I know, Mom." Park So-yeon nodded, her throat tightening. Repay... of course she knew she had to repay him. But how? With what?

The sticky note that said "The interest is three smiles" and that remark about "Park" weighed on her heart like two heavy stones. This had long since exceeded the scope of a normal superior-subordinate relationship or "company benefits."

She stayed to talk with her mother for a while longer, listening mainly to the details about the hospital transfer—how thoughtful the people sent by "Mr. Song" were, how authoritative the arranged experts were, and how comfortable the room was... With every word she heard, the shock and unease in Park So-yeon's heart deepened. He had been too thorough, so thorough that it almost made her unable to breathe.

Seeing that her mother was somewhat fatigued and gradually closing her eyes to sleep under the influence of medication, with the instruments emitting rhythmic and steady "beep" sounds, Park So-yeon gently stood up. She signaled for her sister to look after Mom; she needed to go handle the matters regarding the expenses.

Although Song Tianhao had said not to worry about the expenses and her sister had said the President had sent people to handle it, she still felt she had to confirm it personally. At the very least, she needed to know how much money had been spent and what kind of astronomical figure she owed.

The payment counter was also in the VIP area, in a quiet environment, with only one staff member wearing a well-fitted uniform.

Park So-yeon walked over and stated her mother's name and room number, her voice somewhat dry. "Hello, I would like to check the medical expenses for Ms. Park Mi-sook in room 803, and... see if there are any fees that need to be prepaid."

The staff member operated the computer for a few moments, then looked up with a professional smile, though there seemed to be a hint of respect in their eyes. "Ms. Park, all expenses for Ms. Park Mi-sook in room 803, including the transfer, emergency care, surgery, expert consultations, the VIP room, nursing care, and follow-up medication and treatment, have already been settled. They were paid via direct guarantee from Sky Entertainment's corporate account, so you need not worry."

As expected... Park So-yeon's heart sank. But immediately after, the staff member's words made her almost think she had misheard.

"Additionally," the staff member turned the computer screen slightly toward her, signaling her to look. "Mr. Song also personally deposited a substantial amount of funds into the hospital account for your mother's admission number, to cover follow-up rehabilitation and recuperation. This is the current balance; please take a look."

Park So-yeon's gaze landed on the number on the screen. Ones, tens, hundreds, thousands, ten-thousands, hundred-thousands, millions, ten-millions, hundred-millions, billions... A full one billion Korean won!

Her breathing stopped instantly, her eyes widened in disbelief, and she almost leaned into the screen to count the zeros again.

That wasn't a "substantial" amount of funds; that was a... colossal sum of money, enough to make any ordinary family gape in astonishment!

Based on her sister's previous estimate of the daily cost of the VIP room, the balance in the account was enough for her mother to stay here for... not just half a year, but a year, or even longer!

"This... isn't there a mistake?" Park So-yeon's voice trembled, her fingers cold. Pre-depositing so much money? Was he crazy?

The staff member didn't seem surprised by her reaction, maintaining a smile and lowering their voice to add, "Ms. Park, please rest assured, there is no mistake. Mr. Song personally gave these instructions. He also specifically requested that all treatment records and expense details be kept absolutely confidential from the media and unrelated personnel. Please just focus on your family's treatment and recuperation with peace of mind."

At this moment, at another window nearby, a middle-aged man wearing a white coat, who looked like the attending physician from the previous local hospital, happened to pass by. He had likely overheard snippets of the conversation and couldn't help but mutter under his breath. His voice wasn't loud, but it was clear enough for those nearby to hear: "Tsk, it's really nice to have money. Staying in a VIP room whenever they want, hiring experts whenever they want..."

Before the words had even faded, a middle-aged woman who appeared to be the head nurse walked quickly from the nearby nurse station. She glared sternly at that doctor, her voice low yet authoritative: "Dr. Kim, please watch your language. Mr. Song has explicitly requested that all of Ms. Park's treatment information and privacy must be protected at the highest level; any unrelated discussion or prying is not permitted. If you have nothing else to do, please return to your post."

That Dr. Kim's expression stiffened; he sheepishly touched his nose, not daring to say anything more, and hurried away.

The head nurse then turned to Park So-yeon, her face shifting to a gentle smile. She was carrying a thermal lunch box with a minimalist design but excellent quality, which she handed to her. "Ms. Park, this is a meal that Mr. Song instructed our hospital's nutritional kitchen to prepare specifically for you. He said that since you caught an early morning flight, you surely didn't have time to eat breakfast, and since it's almost noon now, he wanted you to have something to eat."

Park So-yeon stared blankly at the thermal box handed to her. This box was from a high-end Nordic brand known for its minimalist design and thermal performance. She had once caught a glimpse of it in an advertisement on the inner pages of a fashion magazine, and the number of zeros behind the price tag had made her look away immediately. And now, this expensive box contained a "nutritious meal" for her.

She took it mechanically; the box felt slightly heavy in her hand and still had a warm touch.

"Th-thank you." She heard her own dry voice.

"You're welcome. Additionally, Mr. Song has also arranged an experienced professional caregiver for your mother, working three shifts for 24-hour care, so you and your sister can take turns resting without worry." The head nurse's smile became even gentler. She looked at her pale complexion and added, "The caregiver is already on the way and will coordinate with you shortly."

Arranging a caregiver... three shifts... Park So-yeon no longer knew how to react. He had arranged everything she could think of, and even things she hadn't. It was flawlessly thoughtful, and also... left her at a loss.

Carrying that heavy thermal box, she walked back to her mother's room like a lost soul. Her sister had fallen asleep slumped by the bedside. She sat down on the sofa in the reception area and placed the thermal box on the coffee table in front of her.

She stared at the box for a long while before slowly opening the lid.

The first layer had small, separated compartments containing several exquisitely arranged side dishes; the colors were fresh, and it looked appetizing at a glance.

She picked up the lid and looked at the second layer. It was rice. But not plain white rice; it was stir-fried with kimchi, pork, and vegetables, glistening with an alluring sheen and emitting a charred aroma—Kimchi Fried Rice. It was her favorite food, yet one she rarely dared to indulge in because she had to control her weight.

She had only mentioned it once, in a very early radio interview that no one paid attention to, when the host asked about the "taste of Mom's cooking I miss the most," and she had casually said, "The kimchi fried rice Mom used to make when I was little; I could eat two big bowls every time."

The third layer was clear seaweed soup, with a few bits of green onion and sesame seeds floating on top, smelling fragrant.

On the very top layer of the thermal box, on the inside of the lid, a small magnetic clip held a folded, familiar light-gray sticky note. The Sky Entertainment logo was clearly visible in the corner.

Park So-yeon's fingers trembled slightly as she took off the sticky note and unfolded it. On it was still Song Tianhao's clean and forceful handwriting, with only a short line: [First smile: Now.]

No salutation, no signature.

Park So-yeon stared at this line of text, her heart feeling as if it were being squeezed by an invisible hand, aching and swelling. He even calculated this?

After that text message on the plane saying "I will pay the interest," had he already started "collecting" the interest? And at a time like this, when she had just been left unsettled and overwhelmed by the massive balance and the thoughtful arrangements?

"First smile: Now." Park So-yeon looked at this line, recalling what he had said at the airport: "The interest is to smile three more times when you return," and the small text on the back of the sticky note: "Second smile, waiting for you to come back for a meal"...

Should she smile? At this slip of paper, at this table full of meals he had meticulously arranged, at her mother and sister sleeping peacefully in the hospital room, at the warm Jeju Island morning sunlight streaming in through the window?

However, her heart felt heavy. Beyond being moved, there was enormous unease, confusion, and a faint, lingering panic—one she didn't even want to delve into—about whether she could bear this "kindness."

Her mother's words before falling asleep rang in her ears again: "You must repay him properly..." Repay... What could she use to repay him? Besides the "smiles" he mentioned, and besides those photos and fluttering feelings she hid deep in her phone, in a folder named "Park" that she thought no one knew about, what else did she have?

Offer herself? Thinking of this, Park So-yeon couldn't help but feel shy, her pretty face turning red.

She slowly picked up her chopsticks, picked up a small bite of kimchi fried rice, and put it into her mouth. The rice was still warm; the sour and spicy kimchi, the charred aroma of the pork, and the soft, sticky texture of the rice mixed together perfectly. It was the taste from her memory, yet it seemed even more exquisite.

She ate in small bites, but tears rolled down without warning, big drops falling into the rice, into the soup. She didn't dare make a sound, afraid of waking her mother and sister, so she could only keep her head down, her shoulders slightly heaving, crying silently.

Was it because of the relief that her mother had turned the corner? Was it because of this sudden, suffocatingly thoughtful support? Was it because of that prompt for the "first smile"? Or was it because of the dependency deep in her heart—a dependency that was becoming clearer and making her heart flutter more and more—toward that man who was far away in Seoul, yet seemed to be everywhere?

She couldn't tell.

Just then, the screen of the phone lying beside Park So-yeon lit up and vibrated. It turned out to be a text message from Ham Eunjung.

[Unnie, is Auntie okay? The President told us not to disturb you, but I... I'm still a bit worried. Are you okay?]

Looking at this line, Park So-yeon's tears flowed even more fiercely. Eunjung... that sister who was always cool and aloof, yet would say "I want to protect her" after getting drunk, that sister who had an "S" folder stored in her phone... was also worried about her.

She wiped her tears vigorously, sniffled, and with trembling fingers, replied to Ham Eunjung first: [Yes, my mother is doing well, the surgery went smoothly, and she is recuperating. Thank you, Eunjung. I'm fine, don't worry.]

Send.

Then, she tapped on the name that she had pinned but had almost never contacted proactively.

Her fingers hovered over the virtual keyboard for a long time, deleting and editing. Finally, she only sent one line: [First smile, completed.]

Click send. She stared at the phone screen, her heart pounding wildly in her chest, almost threatening to break her ribs.

Time seemed to be stretched out. Every second felt like a century.

Only about ten seconds passed before the phone vibrated again. The screen lit up with a new message notification. From Song Tianhao.

The reply was concise, yet it seemed to carry a hint of a meaningful implication that only she could understand: [Received.] [Second smile, I'm waiting.]