Nisa left Ji-Ah's room quietly, pulling the door shut behind her.
She went straight to Do-Hyun and explained everything in a hushed voice—Ji-Ah had a fever, a headache, and could barely stand.
Do-Hyun's brows knit together in concern, and he agreed it was best to let her rest.
When Nisa later went to check on Ha-Joon, his office was empty.
At the office downtown, Ha-Joon sat at his desk, posture precise, suit immaculate.
He glanced at his watch.
6:35 a.m.
The coffee still hadn't arrived.
That alone was enough to draw his attention.
He picked up his phone and called Seo-Jun.
"Call Ji-Ah," he said.
There was a pause on the line.
"…Sir," Seo-Jun answered, cautious, "she didn't come in today. She hasn't been in at all."
Ha-Joon's face remained unreadable.
He ended the call.
After a brief moment, he dialed another number himself.
Ji-Ah answered, her voice hoarse.
"Yes?"
"What's wrong?" he asked flatly.
"I'm sick."
Silence.
"You're lying."
She let out a quiet scoff. "Why would I lie about being sick?"
"Come to the office. Now."
The line went dead.
Ha-Joon lowered the phone, straightened the documents on his desk, and stood.
Then he walked out of his office—
Already moving, already decided.
-
Meanwhile, back in her room—
Ji-Ah groaned loudly the moment the call ended.
She dropped the phone onto the bed, staring at the ceiling as her head throbbed.
"That man," she muttered hoarsely. "Unbelievable."
Her body ached, but she pushed herself up anyway.
Another wave of dizziness hit, and she paused, breathing through it before heading to the bathroom.
She ran a warm bath this time and sat there longer than she should have, letting the heat ease the chill in her bones.
Afterward, she dressed slowly in her office clothes—crisp blouse, fitted skirt, movements sluggish but careful.
Her reflection looked pale, lips flushed an unnatural red, eyes dull with exhaustion.
Before leaving, she stopped by the small corner where Earth and Yuki waited.
"Eat properly, okay?" she murmured, pouring their food with shaking hands.
They circled her ankles, unaware.
She grabbed her helmet and keys and wheeled Pip out.
Today, she didn't bother buying breakfast.
The smell alone made her nauseous.
As she rode, the morning air cut sharply against her face, and she found herself grumbling under her breath.
"Heartless tyrant… control freak… who calls a sick person a liar…"
By the time she arrived, her lips were even redder, breath uneven.
She didn't linger.
Ji-Ah went straight to the mini kitchen, bypassing her desk entirely.
She made the coffee by muscle memory—hands steady despite everything—and carried it down the hall.
She knocked once.
No answer.
She opened the door anyway.
The office was empty.
Ha-Joon's chair sat untouched behind the desk.
Ji-Ah exhaled slowly, relief and frustration tangling together.
She stepped inside, placed the coffee on the desk, then sank into the chair opposite his.
Resting her head against the cool surface of the desk, she closed her eyes—
Just for a moment.
Ji-Ah barely had her head on the desk when she heard the office door open.
Ha-Joon stepped in, carrying two bags—one heavy with food, the other smaller, clearly medicine.
Without a word, he placed them in front of her.
"Eat," he said. "Drink the medicine."
Then he moved to sit on his desk, posture calm, controlled, his gaze unreadable.
Ji-Ah lifted the food bag and immediately recoiled.
The smell was strong, pungent—enough to make her grimace.
"Why is there this?" she groaned. "You could've brought me soup… or something simpler!"
Ha-Joon didn't flinch.
"You're sick. And still complaining. You will only go home if you eat. I don't want you dying in my house."
Ji-Ah let out a mock smile and rolled her eyes but opened the bag anyway.
One spoon… two spoon… three…
The plate emptied quickly.
Then he spoke again.
"Drink the medicine."
She stared at the bottle, wrinkling her nose. "Do I have to?"
"Yes."
She grimaced, downed it, and muttered under her breath, "Ugh… hate it…"
Ha-Joon's expression remained calm, almost clinical. "Good. Now rest."
Before she could say anything, Ha-Joon picked up the desk phone.
"Seo-Jun. Send Takumi Ishida in," he ordered.
The office door opened shortly after, and Takumi stepped in.
Tall, composed, his posture precise.
"Ms. Park is sick," Ha-Joon said to him. "Take her home. Make sure no one sees you leave."
Ji-Ah immediately spoke up, clutching the keys to Pip.
"I came with Pip. I'll only leave with him," she murmured, holding the keys close.
She bent slightly over them, murmuring softly,
"It's okay… everything's alright…" Her tone was gentle, almost protective, as if reassuring the key itself.
Ha-Joon simply tapped his desk once—firm, final.
Takumi straightened, stepping forward.
"Understood, Ms. Park. Don't worry, I'll handle everything. Just stay here, rest while I prepare the way. No one will notice."
Ji-Ah gave a reluctant nod, still murmuring small words of comfort to her keys.
Ha-Joon leaned back in his chair, silent, as Takumi moved to do all the talking and preparations, keeping her safe without a fuss.
The office felt quiet again—calm, controlled, with Ji-Ah safe and still in charge of her little anchor, Pip.
-
Ji-Ah walked down the hallway, still clutching Pip's keys in one hand, murmuring softly under her breath to herself.
She nearly bumped into Soo-min, who had just turned the corner.
"Oh! Ji-Ah, are you okay?" Soo-min asked, concern immediately in her eyes.
Ji-Ah gave a weak smile, swaying slightly.
"I'm… sick," she admitted, voice hoarse. "I'll be going home soon."
Soo-min nodded, understanding.
"Take care of yourself," she said gently. "Don't push it."
Ji-Ah managed a faint nod and continued walking.
A moment later, Takumi was waiting outside.
He gestured for her to follow him.
She climbed in silently, still pale, still clutching Pip's keys tightly.
As the car began moving, she glanced at him.
"With what will he come back home?" she asked quietly, voice still hoarse.
Takumi glanced at her calmly.
"He told me to take Pip's key from you so... Probably with the Motorcycle," he answered.
Ji-Ah let out a soft scoff, despite her pallor.
"My baby will not work for him," she muttered, shaking her head as her lips curved into a faint, wry smile.
Takumi only raised an eyebrow but didn't reply, letting her muttering continue as they drove off.
Her mood was sickly, stubborn, and entirely her own—still fiery even in her weakened state.