Before Peter could even enjoy the chat group chaos or start flirting with the idea of selling someone a used napkin from Earth, his phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn't the system. It was real.
A notification from his phone.
Human-world type.
And that always meant one thing: bad fucking news.
He opened it—and froze.
"BREAKING: Peter Kang Allegedly Not the Biological Son of Madam Kang!"
He didn't even blink.
His blood pressure spiked. His jaw locked. He wasn't even breathing—just processing. His eyes read the headline again and again like it would magically change into something else.
Lilith leaned over. "What is it now—? Oh... oh shit."
Peter exhaled slowly, like the rage was simmering behind his tongue. He knew this move. He knew who pulled the trigger.
His uncle. That snake in a designer suit who always smiled like he knew which funeral was coming next.
Peter's head tilted back, and the memories just… flooded.
He remembered the whispers.
The test that got "lost."
The awkward energy in the room when he walked in. The way people stopped calling him "young master" and started saying nothing at all week ago at the mansion.
This was it. The power play.
And the timing? Perfect.
Because in Korea—especially in chaebol families—not being a biological child meant you weren't considered a real heir. Not by tradition. Not by the board. Not unless the family matriarch herself wrote it into her will or declared it while alive.
And Peter's mother? She was still in a coma.
Which meant he was vulnerable.
Which meant they were moving.
This wasn't just gossip. It was a legal and social death sentence. Unless his mother woke up and declared in front of the board that Peter was her chosen heir and her real son, or had left a will with his name stamped in gold—he was out. Finished. Discarded like a corporate side character.
It didn't matter how capable he was.
Didn't matter that he knew the business.
Didn't matter that he was the only one actually loyal to her legacy.
In chaebol politics blood wasn't just thicker than water—it was thicker than justice.
Peter closed the notification with a slow, bitter smirk. "That bastard," he muttered, voice sharp enough to bleed. "He's trying to erase me before she even wakes up. He wants the board to vote me out while I'm still outnumbered… while I still look like the 'illegitimate kid' playing CEO."
Lilith didn't say anything. Her expression shifted—still soft, but not pitiful.
Serious. Grounded.
She was watching him the way someone watches a storm build across the sky.
Peter clicked open the TradeNet app again. If the Kang family wanted to cut him off from one world? "Fine," he muttered. "Let's see how they like me when I own a hundred. Let's go Lilith."
The elevator doors slid shut like they were sealing off a crime scene.
Peter's breath came sharp through his nose, fingers already flying over his screen as the city lights flickered outside the glass. He wasn't even waiting to calm down. There was no deep breath, inhale courage bullshit. It was straight to survival mode.
He opened his contacts.
First contact: Professor Seo Yuri.
His girlfriend. Lover. Goddess of late-night textbooks and high heels that could kill a man's ego. She taught international law in business and kissed like she had a PhD in it too. Beautiful, terrifying, and the only person who'd ever made Peter consider finishing a damn syllabus.
He didn't call. Just texted.
Peter: I'm wiring you money. Don't ask questions. I'll explain later. Just hold onto it. Also, if you've seen the article—don't believe shit.
Then BOOM—he sent money.
₩30,000,000,000 ($21.7 million USD)
Gone in a flash. His own money. Liquid cash, not frozen yet. No questions, no drama. That was the whole point—she wouldn't ask.
Lilith raised an eyebrow beside him. "Yuri?"
He just nodded. "Yup. She won't talk. Even if tortured."
"Hot."
"Extremely."
Next call: his buddy, Jihoon.
He tapped the contact and it rang once.
Twice.
"Bro—BRO!" Jihoon yelled as soon as he picked up. "Tell me I didn't just see your name on Naver trending at number one. What the actual—"
"Yeah, I know," Peter cut in. "I'll explain later. Just text me your bank account."
"Wait, what?"
"Account, Jihoon. Now."
"…okay???"
Ding.
Message received.
Peter opened his banking app like it was Tinder and hit send without blinking.
₩30,000,000,000.
Jihoon instantly called back.
"PETER WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST—"
"Easy money, bro," Peter said. "Don't die. I'll call you."
He hung up.
Lilith looked at him like he was casually giving away inheritance like coupons. "You're so hot when you flex other people's billions."
He cracked his neck. "That's called being a chaebol, babe."
But now came the big one.
Final call: Aunt Zowie Kang.
CEO of Kang Group's banking.
Queen of Cold Emails.
Madam Power Suit.
And the only person in the family who wouldn't treat Peter like a spare shoe in a muddy hallway despite the stupid article. She picked up almost immediately. Her voice was calm, smooth, and businesslike—as if she hadn't just watched her nephew get dragged across the digital floor by public opinion.
"Zowie Kang speaking."
"Aunt," Peter said. "I'm guessing you saw the article."
"I did."
"And the money I just moved?"
A pause.
"What money?" she said. "I know nothing." That's his favorite aunt.
Peter exhaled in actual relief.
On her side, in a penthouse office high above Seoul, Zowie Kang leaned back in her chair, glancing at the massive financial dashboard on her screen. Numbers flew by. Frozen accounts blinked red.
All except two.
Peter's and Madam Kang's.
She smirked to herself.
Her phone had buzzed earlier that day in the morning—a direct order from her brother. "Freeze Eunhwa's accounts. And the boy's."
He didn't even call Peter by name. The boy.
But Zowie?
She'd waited.
Delayed.
Let things simmer.
Let Peter see the blade before it came down. And just before it could touch his neck she gave him the gap, because Zowie Kang wasn't a pawn in anyone's game. And if her brother wanted to play dirty? Then she'd make damn sure Peter Kang walked out of this storm holding fire.
At least one person in the family knew the truth. And she was holding the door open.
Back in the elevator, Peter leaned back as the numbers ticked downward, heart still tight, mind racing. But one thing was clear.
He wasn't alone.
He wasn't finished.
And he sure as hell wasn't broke yet.
And he hadn't even started yet.