Chapter 22: A Kind-Hearted Woman

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He never expected that his somewhat exaggerated words would ignite a wave of enthusiasm online, with many mischievous netizens eagerly adopting them, leaving him both amused and bewildered.

“Today, my boss asked me to work overtime. I told him, ‘A true man governs his fate, not chaos!’ His face turned ashen on the spot. You ask why I’m carrying a cardboard box? I’m just taking out the trash, isn’t that enough?”

“My mother told me to tidy up the house, and I said, ‘A true man governs his fate, not chaos!’ You wonder why I’m wandering the streets late at night? Of course, it’s because I like to stroll around!”

“I just told my girlfriend the same phrase, and now I’ve successfully kicked her to the curb…”

Countless young people applied the phrase in various situations. Though this somewhat diluted the gravity of the matter, it sparked a minor cultural phenomenon, keeping the topic trending on social media.

The subsequent announcement of the specific measures regarding the Air Force Command also surprised many. Once the bastion of Longxing, the Security Command faced a fresh round of crackdowns following the army-wide purge led by the Supreme Commander. While the Chief of Staff’s economic maneuvers remained unclear, his methods for eliminating dissent were unquestionably effective.

The new Air Force Commander, Lieutenant General Nam Young-chun, would lead a team of twenty to form the “Military Security Support Command Preparatory Group.” Unless unforeseen, these members would become the backbone of this new entity, executing the Supreme Commander’s orders by reorganizing the Command and its subordinate units.

Unlike the staunchly loyal graduates from the military academy, General Nam—formerly a special forces commander—was somewhat of an outsider. Not a professional military academy alumnus but an ROTC graduate, rising to this rank was no small feat. His lack of entangled academy politics made him the perfect instrument for this task.

The ROTC program was a unique military initiative offering college students a chance to receive military training while pursuing undergraduate or graduate studies, commissioning them as officers upon graduation. Naturally, the traditional academy graduates looked down on these ROTC officers.

According to recommendations from the Defense Ministry’s Air Force Command Reform Committee, a large-scale downsizing of his old unit was planned. The Preparatory Group would reduce the Command’s personnel from 4,200 to 2,900. After screening, 750 would return to their original units, and 580 would be transferred directly to the reserves.

Commissioned officers would be cut from nine to six, and senior officers from fifty to thirty. Of the more than fifty local detachments, only thirty would remain; divisional support units would be disbanded.

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To fully assert his authority, Chief of Staff Wen ordered Nam Young-chun to dismantle the iconic tower symbolizing the Air Force Command. This marked a decisive victory over the conservative military factions.

Che Lunhou watched the news with mixed emotions. There was still no word on exoneration or compensation for his comrades. The silence was deeply unsettling—hope mingled with fear. What fate awaited them now?

Recently, his network of retired officers had grown closer, each nurturing hopeful fantasies about the future, even consoling themselves that things couldn’t possibly worsen.

Soo-ji’s public announcement of donations stirred another wave of attention. Memories of her rumored romance with Che Lunhou resurfaced. Many believed there was something between them—after all, it was common for a handsome man and a beautiful woman who spent so much time together to spark gossip. Soo-ji, well-known in her own right, steadfastly denied everything, leaving people helpless.

JYP Entertainment was somewhat relieved they hadn’t prematurely dismissed Che Lunhou. With the media frenzy growing, having him on their roster actually enhanced the company’s image—the reputation of sheltering fallen heroes was not Soo-ji’s alone to enjoy.

They also knew a man like him wouldn’t stay long at the company. Having him idle was awkward, and given his ambiguous relationship with Soo-ji, it was best to keep him close to her. Perhaps Che Lunhou was quite content with that arrangement.

Thus, Che Lunhou regained work, still following the beautiful boss to various film sets. But his workload had become lighter, making him feel like a nobleman lounging in an air-conditioned vehicle, playing on his phone all day while Soo-ji, like a diligent provider, went out to work and earn his salary.

The crew treated him with great respect. Even the production assistants would offer him coffee. His polite refusals of photo requests only heightened his reputation for modesty. Praise for him was endless, to the point it interfered with his security duties, though there was little to guard these days.

Soo-ji’s detractors lurked like rats in dark holes, limited to verbal attacks without any substantial action. That was just as well; Che Lunhou was at a critical juncture and didn’t want unnecessary trouble. Besides, with the weather so hot, hiding in the air-conditioned car sipping iced coffee was a blessing—though it was tiring for the beautiful boss, who wiped sweat from her brow in a manner reminiscent of military training.

“Soon, we’ll be filming in Morocco. Lunhou, can you come with us? If it’s inconvenient, it’s fine,” Soo-ji said. She understood the tiger couldn’t leave its mountain; before matters settled, he couldn’t wander freely, especially not across continents to distant North Africa. So, she asked casually.

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Lately, Che Lunhou’s popularity had surged. Though many still fixated on the scandal surrounding his private life, casting doubt on his character, aside from critiques about his personal conduct, many praised his strong sense of justice—a true child of Gwangju, brave and passionate. This, to some extent, overshadowed recent controversies and reversed public opinion.

That troublesome Somi had finally surfaced again. No one knew if she had quit entirely or signed with another company. To Che Lunhou, it was a pity she had abruptly vanished after recording her debut track. Even Seojung couldn’t pry much out of her, only that she wished to take a break.

Soo-ji rested briefly to rehydrate before resuming filming. She teased, “I hired an old master to wait on me,” glancing at Che Lunhou reclining comfortably in the nanny van, snacking and sipping coffee. Suddenly, she felt such days might never come again. Like a wounded eagle, no matter how harsh the fall, he would always seek a chance to soar once more.

“Is there something on my face? Why are you staring? Did I get snack crumbs on my cheek?” Che Lunhou checked the phone screen but found nothing amiss, baffled by the actress a year his senior and her antics.

“No! I’m just admiring a handsome man. You don’t want me looking? The South Korean constitution doesn’t forbid me from appreciating good looks! I spent money, so I’m getting my value!” Soo-ji blushed, then played it cool, tossing out some nonsense before returning to the set without looking back, leaving Che Lunhou utterly perplexed. Was she complimenting him?

Spending so much time together inevitably created a “suspension bridge effect.” Naturally, Che Lunhou wouldn’t be so vain as to believe a glamorous actress from the cutthroat entertainment world would take interest in a struggling drifter like him. He admired her brave choices and sympathized with her hardships. After all, his beautiful boss was truly a kind-hearted woman.