He was one of those employees who quietly did his job without drawing attention or making noise. Every morning, he woke up to a routine life, heading to the office with a calm mind and focused determination. The company he worked for was an IT firm—slowly expanding, filled with young employees brimming with ambition.
His work wasn't glamorous, but he knew it well. Computers, coding, and technical tasks had become part of his daily rhythm. He immersed himself in the workflow, finding satisfaction in the order and steadiness of it all.
On what seemed like an ordinary day, something felt different. The office buzzed subtly; glances were exchanged, whispers floated through the air. When he looked up, he saw a young man walking into the office—dressed sharply, walking with confidence, a face that seemed unaccustomed to places like this.
The newcomer stopped to speak with one of the staff, exchanging a few words. Short, polite words, but heavy with respect, a recognition beyond ordinary friendliness. As they parted ways, he leaned toward his colleague and asked quietly:
"Who was that… guy?"
His friend hesitated, then said simply, almost offhandedly, yet the words hit hard:
"That's the owner's son."
The revelation sent a jolt through him. He glanced back at the young man. Nothing in his demeanor suggested authority, yet here was the son of the most powerful figure in the company. How could someone so calm, so natural among ordinary employees, be heir to it all?
His mind raced, but his hands remained steady at his desk. Lines of code and files on his screen looked familiar, yet something about them felt different today. It wasn't the work—it was the thought that now entered his life.
Later that afternoon, the staff was called to a brief meeting. It wasn't a formal gathering, just a preliminary session. As they took their seats, the same young man from the morning walked in. He stood slightly apart, his eyes calmly scanning the room.
The CEO spoke, his voice steady and even:
"Today, I'd like to introduce a new member of our team. Not just a guest, but someone who will work closely with all of us."
He gestured to the young man beside him.
"This is my son."
The room fell silent. Some faces reflected surprise; others smiled politely. He, too, remained quiet—but inside, something stirred. What had started as an ordinary day had just opened a door to something far bigger.
Instead of arrogance, the CEO's son said simply:
"I'm here to learn, and to work with you—all of you—just like anyone else."
The company wasn't confined to one city or country. Branches stretched across four nations, each with its own team, projects, and challenges. That was why the CEO never stayed in one place for long. Every year, he traveled to each branch personally, checking progress with his own eyes.
His home was elsewhere. His residence lay in another country, far from the daily office grind. When he visited, his presence was felt—but never for long. One and a half months at a time, then another trip awaited.
This time, only his son accompanied him.
The young man quickly adapted to the office environment. He didn't act like "the CEO's son." Instead, he tried to blend in, learning the dynamics quietly. He strengthened initial introductions and began working with different teams—especially the Contents department.
One day, the CEO called him aside:
"Don't aim for the top immediately. Learn from the employees. Understand how they think, how they work—especially in the creative department. That's where the company breathes."
These weren't casual words—they were responsibilities. And he took them seriously.
He began sitting with videographers, designers, and other creative staff. He watched how they turned blank ideas into visuals, how they brought words to life from nothing. Sometimes, he asked questions; other times, he just listened.
Yet, for all his calm, there were moments when he revealed his youth. At eighteen, his judgment occasionally faltered, his understanding of complex creative choices lagged. He would frown at a design he didn't understand, or ask a question that made even the interns blink. And yet, he persisted, eager to learn, eager to belong.
Meanwhile, the other employees observed silently. They realized his presence wasn't temporary—it was significant. The young man's humility and willingness to learn contrasted sharply with his true position. And when his month-and-a-half stint ended, the office would not be the same.
Because sometimes, those who come for a short while…
leave the longest impact.
As the day ended, he returned to his small corner of the office, fingers hovering over the keyboard. For the first time, work felt different. It wasn't just coding or files—it was an opportunity to prove himself, to navigate a world where every glance and word carried weight.
And somewhere deep inside, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.
Among the senior staff in the Contents department was one man who stood out—not by noise, but by reputation. He was widely known as the sharpest mind in the creative unit. Videos, designs, concepts—he understood them not just technically, but strategically.
It was him who first approached the CEO's son.
"Sit here," he said casually one afternoon, pulling out a chair beside his workstation. "I'll show you how we refine raw footage. Anyone can edit—but not everyone can tell a story."
The young man listened carefully. At eighteen, his curiosity outweighed his pride. He leaned forward, watching the screen as layers of visuals came together, impressed by how meaning could be shaped from fragments.
From that day on, the two were often seen together. Lunch breaks. Late afternoons. Quiet conversations beside glowing monitors. To everyone else, it looked like mentorship—an experienced employee helping a young newcomer find his footing.
And in part, it was.
But not entirely.
The senior employee's interest went beyond teaching. His questions were careful. His observations sharper than they appeared. He watched how the young man reacted to pressure, how quickly he learned, what he noticed—and what he didn't.
This was not friendship.
Not really.
What he wanted was bigger.
More valuable.
He wasn't getting close to the CEO's son because he liked him. He was getting close because of what the young man represented—the future of the company, the shifting balance of power, the door that would one day open… or close.
And the CEO's son, still young, still learning, didn't see it. Not yet.
He thought he had found a guide.
A friend.
But some people don't teach you because they care.
They teach you because they are preparing you—for their own reasons.