The next morning, the mansion was already awake.
Ha-Joon stood by the window, fully dressed for work—sharp suit, flawless hair, watch gleaming as he checked the time.
6:12 a.m.
He glanced toward the stairs.
Nothing.
He checked again.
6:15.
A slow, unimpressed sigh escaped him. "Unbelievable."
As he turned, Seo-Jun was already there, leaning casually near the hallway, coffee in hand, glasses perched neatly on his nose.
"She's still asleep, isn't she?" Seo-Jun asked pleasantly.
Ha-Joon didn't answer.
Seo-Jun smiled. "I'll take that as a yes."
They walked down the hallway together. Ha-Joon stopped in front of Ji-Ah's door and knocked once.
No response.
He knocked again. "Wake up."
Silence.
Seo-Jun tilted his head, listening. "Impressive. She sleeps like she negotiates deadlines."
Ha-Joon's jaw tightened.
"Wake up," he said again, calm but colder.
A muffled, very ungraceful groan came from inside.
Seo-Jun brightened. "Alive."
Footsteps shuffled closer. Slow. Dragging.
The door opened a crack.
Ji-Ah stood there with hair sticking out in every possible direction, eyes half-lidded, face still imprinted with sleep. She squinted at them.
"…Why are there two of you?"
"You're late," Ha-Joon said flatly.
She blinked. "Late for wha—"
Realization hit her like a truck.
Her eyes widened. "WORK—! BREAKFAST—! I—!"
She spun around instantly. "I'll go to the kitchen—right now—"
"Stop."
She froze mid-panic and turned back.
"Make whatever breakfast you want," Ha-Joon said, adjusting his cuff. "Then bring it to my office. With the documents."
She nodded furiously. "Yes, sir."
Seo-Jun looked at her hair. Then at Ha-Joon. Then back at her.
"…You might also want to bring yourself," he added gently.
Ji-Ah looked down at her pajamas. "…I was."
Ha-Joon turned and walked away without another word.
Seo-Jun lingered for half a second, smiling kindly. "Good luck."
Then he followed.
Ji-Ah stared at the closed hallway.
"…This house is a nightmare," she muttered—before bolting toward the kitchen.
--
Ji-Ah walked down the hallway carefully, breakfast bags swinging lightly from her hands.
One bag. Then another.
Warmth seeped through the paper, the faint smell of sesame oil and something grilled rising up and following her like a nervous cloud.
She adjusted her grip, straightened her back, and stopped in front of Ha-Joon's office.
She took a breath.
Knock. Knock.
"Come in."
She stepped inside, bowing slightly. "Good morning, sir."
Ha-Joon sat behind his desk, already working, suit crisp, expression unreadable. Seo-Jun stood near the side table, tablet in hand, looking far too awake for this hour.
Ji-Ah walked forward and carefully placed the breakfast down. Two bags.
Ha-Joon glanced at them.
Then—without a word—he pushed one toward Seo-Jun.
Seo-Jun's eyes lit up. "For me?"
Ji-Ah nodded quickly. "Yes."
He smiled warmly. "Thank you, Ji-Ah. You're a lifesaver."
She felt her shoulders relax just a little.
Ha-Joon opened his bag.
Steam escaped. The smell filled the room—warm rice, savory broth, something gently spiced.
Seo-Jun inhaled dramatically. "Oh. That smells… dangerously good."
Ha-Joon picked up his chopsticks.
One bite. He chewed slowly.
Ji-Ah watched his face like her future depended on it. Because it probably did.
Another bite.
A pause.
"…Good," he said.
Her heart jumped.
"But—"
Of course.
"The rice is slightly overcooked," he continued calmly. "The seasoning is uneven. And the side dish should be served hotter."
Ji-Ah nodded, lips pressed together, accepting her fate.
Ha-Joon closed the container neatly and pushed it aside. "Bring coffee."
She blinked. "Now?"
"Yes."
"Yes, sir," she said quickly, already turning.
As she left, she heard Seo-Jun murmur cheerfully, "For someone who finds flaws in everything, you still eat very well, sir."
Ha-Joon didn't respond.
Ji-Ah walked toward the kitchen, shaking her head.
Breakfast: approved.
Breakfast: rejected.
Coffee: inevitable.
Ji-Ah walked back down the hallway with the coffee tray balanced carefully in both hands.
The smell was strong—bitter, dark, exactly how he liked it. She adjusted her grip, then felt a strand of hair slip loose from her ponytail.
"No, no—stay," she muttered, trying to tuck it back with her shoulder.
Another strand escaped. Then another.
She tilted her head, blew air upward, failed completely, and frowned. "Why now of all times?"
She didn't see him.
Ha-Joon stepped out of his office at the exact same moment, jacket still on the chair, phone in hand, Seo-Jun beside him, mid-sentence.
They collided.
The tray tipped.
Coffee flew.
A dark splash spread across Ha-Joon's white shirt.
Time stopped.
Ji-Ah gasped, eyes going wide. "Oh—oh no—sir—I'm so sorry—!"
Ha-Joon looked down slowly.
Very slowly.
The stain bloomed across his chest like a bad decision.
He lifted his gaze.
He didn't shout.
Which was worse.
His expression stayed calm, but the air around him turned cold.
Ji-Ah panicked and did the worst possible thing—she reached out with a napkin and started dabbing.
Which smeared it.
"Oh my—no—wait—this is making it worse—why is it spreading—?"
"Stop," he said.
She froze.
His voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
"You walk without looking," he continued flatly. "You carry things you can't manage. And you panic instead of thinking."
Her hands dropped slowly.
"I—I'm really sorry," she said, bowing slightly.
He looked at his shirt once more, then straightened.
"Seo-Jun."
"Yes, sir."
"We're leaving."
Seo-Jun glanced at Ji-Ah, sympathy flickering across his face. "I'll… take care of this."
Ha-Joon adjusted his watch, stepped around the coffee spill, and walked away without another word.
The door closed behind them.
Ji-Ah stood there for a second, staring at the mess.
Then she sighed.
"Of course," she muttered.
She grabbed paper towels, knelt down, and started cleaning the floor quietly—coffee, footprints, and all—hair finally falling completely loose as if mocking her.
Perfect, she thought. Just… perfect.
Ji-Ah was still crouched on the floor, wiping up the last dark streak of coffee, when slow, deliberate footsteps approached.
Click.
Click.
Click.
She didn't need to look up to know who it was.
"Well," a smooth voice said, cool and amused, "I wondered where that smell came from."
Ji-Ah's hand paused.
She looked up.
Hye-Rin stood there, arms crossed, perfectly dressed as always, eyes flicking from the damp floor to Ji-Ah's slightly rumpled state.
Her lips curved—not quite a smile, more like a judgment.
"You spilled coffee on the CEO," Hye-Rin continued lightly. "On your second week. That has to be some kind of record."
Ji-Ah straightened slowly, standing up with the paper towels still in her hand.
Her hair was a mess, yes—but her spine was straight, her expression calm.
"It was an accident," she said evenly. "And I cleaned it."
Hye-Rin tilted her head. "Accidents usually happen to people who aren't careful."
Ji-Ah met her gaze. "And people who walk out without looking don't help either."
The air tightened.
For a brief second, Hye-Rin's eyes sharpened.
Ji-Ah didn't look away.
Then Ji-Ah glanced around, eyebrows knitting slightly. "By the way… why are you on this floor so often?"
Hye-Rin's posture shifted—subtle, proud.
"I was promoted," she said smoothly. "I'm the manager here now."
Ji-Ah blinked once.
"Oh," she said. Then, genuinely polite, "Congratulations."
Hye-Rin studied her, clearly expecting jealousy, panic—something.
Ji-Ah only nodded, as if filing the information away.
Hye-Rin scoffed softly. "You should be more careful from now on. Not everyone survives mistakes here."
Ji-Ah glanced at the clean floor, then back up. "Then I'll just have to make fewer of them."
For the first time, Hye-Rin paused.
Her lips pressed together, unreadable.
"Good luck," she said curtly, turning on her heel and walking away.
Ji-Ah watched her go, then exhaled slowly.
"…Office politics already," she muttered, tossing the used towels into the bin. "I need another coffee. For myself."