Lee Seo-han’s finger swiped across the ThinkPad’s trackpoint.
Only the abrasive friction of his fingertip against the rough rubber tip cut through the silence of the dawn.
Cash balance: $4.3 million. Three Phase 2 clinical trials in progress. Time remaining: 18 months at best.
Labor, equipment, and clinical costs—more than $215,000 evaporated every single month. Every drop of reagent, every single patient, even a single document dispatched to the CRO cost money.
Ether Bio.
It was a company he had built by grinding away seven and a half years of his life. Cumulative investment: $43 million.
To the rest of the industry, it was a venture that was still alive, but to Seo-han, the company was already living on borrowed time.
A thin piece of paper lay on his desk. [Consent Form for 50% Reduction in CEO Compensation]
Seo-han picked up his pen. Scratch.
There was no hesitation. It was an act of squeezing out his own lifeblood, but if it could delay the fall of the hourglass by even a few hours, that was enough.
After signing, Seo-han threw off his lab coat. He gripped the pull-up bar in the corner of the laboratory.
His grip tightened around the bar and he pulled himself upward.
One, two, three. Exactly ten repetitions.
Immediately after, he threw himself onto the dip station. His triceps strained with taut tension, thick veins protruding vividly beneath his white shirt.
At forty-three, most men by conventional standards were already facing physical decline. But Seo-han’s body was an exception.
From diet, exercise, and sleep, to hormone and immune responses—he had managed himself like a living specimen.
As the final burpee test ended, his ragged breath hit the floor.
His heart rate climbed past 150, but his mind sank ice-cold, like the deep ocean.
Seo-han stared at his reflection in the mirror. A flushed, overheated body. Beyond it, eyes shining like ice.
The mind had to stay cold. The body had to be ready to take control when the moment came.
That was his core principle.
Seo-han roughly wiped away his sweat and returned to the monitors.
Across the three screens, the interim data for the Phase 2 trials for renal, biliary tract, and gastric cancers flickered. By industry standards, it wasn't bad. In fact, it was more than satisfactory.
But to Seo-han, 'satisfactory' was synonymous with defeat.
Cancer cells always found a detour. They utilized immune evasion strategies, surviving the pressure of the drugs. To close every escape route, a more sophisticated combination was required.
The capital required to launch additional trials was at least $28.5 million.
Yet, the market was frozen solid. The capital flowing through Gangnam was obsessed only with AI, LLMs, and semiconductor equipment stocks.
Medical biotech was stranded dead center in the middle of a brutal Biotech Winter.
Buzz. Buzz.
The smartphone on his desk vibrated. It was a VC partner who had led Ether Bio’s Series A and B rounds.
"CEO Lee, the fund's maturity date is just around the corner. The LPs are demanding redemption. We can't hold them off any longer."
The voice on the other end was cold and matter-of-fact. "The metrics just aren't there."
Seo-han did not reply.
He hung up and stood before the floor-to-ceiling glass window. Outside, the skyscraper jungle of Gangnam emitted a blue glow like a massive server rack.
Within that sluggish flow of capital, governed by laws, regulations, procedures, and audits, this substance could never be completed.
If it couldn't be done by the regulations...
Then he would simply rewrite the rules.
"Twenty-eight point five million, huh."
A single phrase lingered at the center of the screen, one he had been obsessed with for days.
[Ghost Hormone]
A half-life of four minutes. An ultra-short-acting peptide that vanished without a trace. And a long-acting formulation designed to extend its duration.
Phantom.
For years, Seo-han had been less interested in aging itself than in the moment people became aware of it.
The human body begins to decline sometime in its thirties. Most people simply fail to notice.
The real change comes in their forties.
Climbing a flight of stairs leaves them short of breath. Recovery takes longer. A stranger begins to stare back from the mirror.
For the first time, they become conscious of their own aging. And Seo-han had always wondered if that awareness was part of the problem.
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What if the brain was the first organ to surrender to aging? What if the body merely followed its lead?
What if the moment a person accepted decline, their biology began complying with that decision?
Phantom was born from that hypothesis.
It was not a drug that made people younger. It simply awakened the biological drives that had gradually fallen silent with age.
Seo-han had already completed self-testing.
An hour after he first injected Phantom, a heavy heat surged up his spine to the nape of his neck. His dulled senses snapped into razor-sharp focus, and his cognitive circuits felt as if a high-voltage current were flowing through them.
The effect lasted for 96 hours.
For four days, he knew no fatigue. He manipulated antibody structures, interpreted data, and designed new combinations. Sleep was necessary, but fatigue lost its meaning.
In that moment, Seo-han became certain.
This wasn't a cure. It was desire itself. And desire always makes money.
Seo-han pulled up customized AI scraping data.
The condition was simple: the individual who possessed the most staggering wealth in South Korea, yet suffered from the most desperate deficiency.
Soon, a single name was filtered out. [S Group Vice Chairman, Jeong Hyun-jin. Age 58.]
A man unable to accept his own decay. A man obsessed with the few things money couldn't buy.
Seo-han closed his ThinkPad. The plan was complete.
He dressed in a tailored, immaculate dark navy suit. He was no longer a CEO on the brink of bankruptcy.
He was a conqueror on his way to meet his prey.
On a Friday night, the private safehouse in Hannam-dong was a fortress.
High retaining walls, dual security gates, and an approach completely severed from the outside world. It was a secluded sanctuary where the covert desires of the nation's elite converged.
Leaning against the head of the sofa, Vice Chairman Jeong Hyun-jin’s face was etched with chronic fatigue.
The S Group Vice Chairman—one of the nation's foremost apex predators of capital. But right now, his eyes were dull, his body heavy, and boredom seemed baked into his expression.
Seated beside him was Chae Yu-jin.
The top model Jeong currently favored most, the woman who hoped to become the permanent fixture at Jeong Hyun-jin's side. Drooping the hem of her silk dress, Yu-jin accepted a glass of whisky, quietly observing Jeong Hyun-jin.
She knew better than anyone how a man’s once-predatory eyes dim with age, and how pathetic the moment becomes when power can no longer overcome the body.
Ding-dong.
The voice of the executive secretary flowed through the intercom.
"Vice Chairman. A man named Lee Seo-han, CEO of Ether Bio, has arrived at the lower security gate. He is requesting a brief audience to pay his respects."
Jeong Hyun-jin’s brow furrowed. Lee Seo-han’s profile popped up on his smartphone screen.
[Lee Seo-han. Age 43. Ph.D. in Biotechnology. CEO of Ether Bio. Cumulative Investment: $43M. Phase 2 Clinical Trials in Progress.]
Jeong Hyun-jin let out a venomous chuckle.
He had heard the biotech sector was frozen solid. Some biotech founder on the verge of running out of cash had come begging.
Yu-jin thought the same. Just another petitioner. Another human crawling beneath the foot of capital.
"Let’s see his face," Jeong Hyun-jin said, setting his glass down. "Let him in."
Moments later, the door to the safehouse opened. Lee Seo-han walked in.
In that instant, the air shifted.
A dark navy suit without a single wrinkle. An unflinching stride. A face completely devoid of servility or anxiety. There was no trace of a starving venture CEO anywhere.
Instead, his gaze was unnaturally sharp. His solid build beneath his white shirt, his sharp jawline, and his measured, calculating gaze instantly dominated the secluded room.
Jeong Hyun-jin involuntarily straightened his posture. Before he could even initiate a power play, he felt overwhelmed.
Chae Yu-jin’s eyes widened subtly.
She had seen countless men of wealth and power—rich men, powerful men, young men, dangerous men.
But Lee Seo-han was different.
He didn't just look young; it was as if he had walked into the room wearing the state of prime vitality itself.
"My name is Lee Seo-han," his voice was low and dry. "Forgive the intrusion without prior notice, Vice Chairman Jeong."
He did not sit on the sofa, which hadn't been offered anyway. He didn't even glance at the whisky glasses. He merely looked down at Jeong Hyun-jin.
It wasn't the gaze of a founder meeting an investor. It was the gaze of a scientist studying a test subject.
Jeong Hyun-jin’s jaw tightened.
"Listen here, CEO Lee," he swirled his whisky, the ice clinking dully. "I commend the audacity it took to get here, but if this is an investment pitch, let me draw the line. I have no desire to ruin my precious Friday night with a business proposal."
Seo-han smiled ever so faintly. "I didn't come to beg for money."
"Then what?"
"I came to offer you a very unique proposition, Vice Chairman."
Seo-han reached into his coat, pulled out a small vial, and placed it on the marble table. The transparent liquid gleamed coldly beneath the lighting.
"This is a compound I developed. It precisely stimulates the hypothalamus and endocrine system, elevating physical function back to peak, prime levels."
Seo-han paused briefly. Then, he looked directly into Jeong Hyun-jin’s eyes.
"Vice Chairman," his low voice pierced the room. "Don't you want to return to your twenties?"
Chae Yu-jin was the first to react. Her breath caught sharply for a fraction of a second.
She looked at the man before her—a physique that defied his forty-three years of age, a gaze that seemed almost too focused, and an attitude that seemed entirely devoid of fatigue.
In that instant, she had an intuition. He was the proof. Whatever was inside that vial was the source of that impossible vitality.
The veins on the back of Jeong Hyun-jin’s hand bulged.
"Is it some kind of narcotic?" his voice dropped. "Are you telling me to put poison into my body?"
Instead of answering, Seo-han picked up a disposable syringe. He rolled up his shirt sleeve, exposing a solid forearm and well-defined veins.
"Narcotics destroy the brain," Seo-han raised the syringe. "This wakes it up."
Without a shred of hesitation, Seo-han plunged the needle into his own arm. The transparent liquid vanished into his body. He didn't even blink.
"I injected myself first," Seo-han pulled out a fresh syringe and extended it toward Jeong Hyun-jin. "Now, it's your turn, Vice Chairman."
Suspicion clouded Jeong Hyun-jin’s eyes.
But the man before him was perfectly fine. No, he was beyond fine—his very existence was a provocation.
And Chae Yu-jin, sitting beside him—her gaze was still glued to Lee Seo-han. That fact scraped against Jeong Hyun-jin’s pride.
Old. The word lodged in his throat like a chunk of rusted metal.
Jeong roughly rolled up his sleeve.
"Fine," a raspy voice escaped him. "If this is a scam, I'll dismantle your company into thin air myself. Inject it yourself."
He thrust his arm forward. A cold, faint arc drew across the corner of Seo-han’s mouth.
An alcohol swab brushed the forearm, and the precisely honed needle pierced Jeong Hyun-jin’s slack tissue. The transparent Phantom vanished into his system.
"We're done."
Seo-han casually packed up the syringe. Then, he placed two business cards on the table.
One in front of Jeong Hyun-jin. The other in front of Chae Yu-jin.
Yu-jin’s eyebrows twitched minutely. Seo-han had not ignored her presence; rather, he had acknowledged her precisely. It was both a warning and a temptation.
"When you begin to miss the sensations of those years," Seo-han turned around, "give me a call."
Even after he exited the safehouse, the air in the room did not easily settle.
Chae Yu-jin stared at the card left on the table. Snatching her gaze away, Jeong Hyun-jin rubbed his forearm.
Exactly one hour later, a heavy heat erupted from the base of Jeong Hyun-jin’s spine.
The chronic tinnitus and fatigue that plagued him every night were instantly severed. His blurred vision became abnormally lucid.
His heart pounded powerfully. His blood accelerated.
His body remembered—the sensation he had lost a lifetime ago.
Jeong Hyun-jin’s gaze transformed. The dull, dying eyes of an old predator regained their predatory gleam. He roughly pulled Chae Yu-jin by her waist.
Yu-jin’s eyes, however, were still lingering on the door where Lee Seo-han had vanished.
That fact made Jeong Hyun-jin burn even hotter.
The stolen gaze. The crushed pride. The resurrected body.
As everything tangled together at once, the old predator grit his teeth, as if to prove he wasn't finished yet.
And that night, Jeong Hyun-jin realized for the very first time.
He had not come begging for money. He had come as a hunter.
He had found the deepest hunger inside him. He had struck it with surgical precision.
And walked away.