“The, the coffee — they wanted to have some before the Senior Managing Director arrived… but I took too long getting it… I’m sorry. I wasted time at the café… It’s my fault.”
Haejeong watched Munyeong rattle on as though all of this were somehow his own fault, staring at him with an expression that said he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
“So… if you could just forgive me this once…”
Munyeong bowed his head and apologized, insisting the blame was his.
“And also… the way I look… the staff misunderstood because of me… they, they never meant any disrespect to you, Senior Managing Director…”
A heavy silence settled over the hotel room. Everything went still, as if the world had paused. All fifteen-odd pairs of eyes turned toward Haejeong, waiting on his next move.
The staff exchanged glances at Munyeong’s bold display. Some looked worried that it would only make things worse, while others wore expressions full of anxious hope that this whole thing would just pass without incident. Above all, the manager — finding himself in the position of having been defended by Munyeong — wore a look that was equal parts flustered and ashamed, and lowered his head again deeply.
Haejeong’s unreadable gaze settled heavily on Munyeong. The moment Munyeong felt that gaze pressing down on the brim of his cap, a low voice slipped out.
“…The people I sent have arrived.”
Haejeong continued speaking into his phone without taking his eyes off Munyeong. He looked at him — somewhere between curious and perplexed — and spoke again.
“How are the people I sent? You asked.”
As if someone on the other end had asked, Haejeong slowly swept his gaze over the staff, who were all visibly tense. The manager’s already-hunched back went rigid all over again. Haejeong seemed to think for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly, before his gaze drifted and came to rest on Munyeong — who stood with both hands clasped politely before him and his head bowed, like a penitent awaiting sentencing. He looked back and forth between the staff and Munyeong, and then, at last, a displeased sound came out.
“…Well…… good enough.”
“……”
“They’re all the same in the end. Fine, I’m hanging up.”
Haejeong exchanged a few indifferent words and ended the call immediately. The manager was so tense and then so relieved that his glasses had fogged up. He looked like he might actually cry.
And he wasn’t the only one — here and there, several staff members visibly clutched their chests in relief. Munyeong, likewise, let out a silent exhale and unclenched the fist he hadn’t realized he’d been making. He could finally breathe again.
Haejeong hung up the phone and looked at Munyeong — who was making no effort to hide his relief — with an expression that said he couldn’t understand him in the slightest, then let out a short, contemptuous snort.
“…Ridiculous.”
He muttered it in a tone dripping with exasperation, then dropped onto the sofa as if none of that had happened. Without missing a beat, he nudged the still-bowing manager on the shoulder with the toe of his shoe and issued a short command.
“Start with the clothes.”
**
Considering a typhoon had just blown through, the room was surprisingly calm in its wake. The staff began moving with practiced ease, as if nothing had happened at all. Whether they had been professionally trained for exactly this sort of thing, they pressed on with their work without so much as a tremor. The manager was no different. His glasses — fogged up just moments ago — were gone from the memory, replaced by a polished, commercial smile as he went through the outfits he’d brought for each season, describing them one by one without a single stumble.
“The sleeve isn’t working for me.”
Haejeong looked over the shirt that had been fitted on him and pointed to the sleeve with a dissatisfied expression. The manager snapped his fingers and signaled to one of the staff.
“In that case, may I suggest the dress shirt newly released in this season’s collection? The sleeve is cut shorter, and only two pieces were brought into the country — the fabric is rare and hard to come by, so the feel alone will be entirely different.”
A staff member held up the shirt on its hanger, and Haejeong considered it with a genuinely thoughtful expression before giving a short nod.
“Then that one.”
“Of course.”
Once the clothing was settled, they moved straight on to accessories. Dozens of tie pins in elegant cases were arranged before him.
“These are the high jewelry pieces that received the strongest response at this season’s fashion week. The piece from Brand C in particular — featuring a blue diamond that has been cut and refined over more than ten years — was coveted even by the British royal family, but Rep. Chu acquired it at auction ahead of them, and it has only just arrived in Korea.”
The moment the description finished, Haejeong gave a tilt of his head. He gave off the air of someone who didn’t much care either way, but he was actually selecting with more care than it appeared. No matter how reckless he seemed, a chaebol was a chaebol. His eye for things was different — even when it looked like he was choosing at random, everything that ended up selected was the most expensive and the most exquisite.
Munyeong had no choice but to stand behind where Haejeong was sitting and watch all of it unfold. He had tried to quietly slip away at one point, but missed the window. When he’d tried to help the busy staff, they had refused outright. Politely this time, unlike before.
Standing around with nothing to do was the one thing he was worst at. He had never gone a day in his life doing nothing, and the idleness made him restless. He kept his movements to a minimum as he scoped out the location of the bathroom. Then, just as he tried to move — slowly, stealthily, like a thief — a sideways voice cut him off.
“Where are you going.”
In an instant, every pair of eyes belonging to the staff surrounding Haejeong turned toward him. Munyeong startled at the sudden attention, nearly breaking into a cold sweat, and halted mid-step.
“The, the bathroom, just for a moment…”
“You about to shit yourself?”
“Pardon…?”
“I said, is it that urgent.”
He couldn’t answer the blunt question, and Haejeong turned his head to look at him.
“I told you earlier.”
What…
“That you’re attending to me today.”
Why me of all people…
“People who attend to someone like me keep their position no matter how badly they need the bathroom.”
…At the very least, basic bodily needs should be—
“You know why? Because if something happens to me the second you step away — even for a moment — that responsibility falls on you, the one attending to me.”
…So why is it that I have to attend to you in the first place—
“So you follow my instructions and my instructions alone. Like earlier — going off to fetch coffee, deciding things on your own — pull that again, and I swear to god, I can’t stand it. I don’t share what’s mine with other people. I hate that more than anything.”
At the mention of the coffee, the manager’s shoulder gave an almost imperceptible flinch. But he held his expression like the professional he was, as if he had heard nothing. Munyeong kept every one of those internal responses locked firmly behind his teeth. The conclusion was clear: he would need permission even to use the bathroom, and it was equally clear that Haejeong had been deeply displeased by the fact that he had moved on his own earlier without instruction.
“…Yes.”
He had no idea why he was supposed to be attending to Haejeong, or how he had ended up as his personal staff — but he had no intention of arguing about it. He was a cleaning employee, yes, but he was still a Baekil employee, and it was only natural for a Baekil employee to follow the instructions of a Baekil Group executive. It was a personal discomfort, nothing more. Both this situation he’d never been in before, and the fact that it was Haejeong standing beside him.
Munyeong visibly deflated — like a gloomy herbivore gone meek — and Haejeong, seeming satisfied with that, turned back around and returned to the matter at hand. Clothing, tie pin, ring, watch, necktie — by the time everything had been selected, a full hour had passed, and only then did the work of setting his face and hair begin.
Bored, Haejeong surrendered his face and hair to the team and turned on the television that took up an entire wall of the hotel room to watch a film. Choosing the film with the remote was Munyeong’s job. Haejeong didn’t lift a finger. Holding the coffee straw up to Haejeong’s mouth was also Munyeong’s job. When Haejeong mentioned he was a little hungry, placing the hotel-prepared refreshments into his mouth was also Munyeong’s responsibility, as was taking photos of Haejeong — once he was all put together — to post on his social media.
He spent over thirty minutes being scolded for being a terrible photographer, and out of several hundred shots, just one managed to satisfy Haejeong enough to get them through the ordeal. With looks and a physique like his, any photo would have come out well — but apparently that wasn’t the standard Haejeong held things to.
In any case, Yeon Haejeong had everything done for him that any ordinary person would do themselves. Once the hair and makeup were finished, he headed to the bedroom for the final fitting — meaning it was time for someone to dress him fully in the outfit, shoes, and accessories he had selected. With Haejeong occupied, Munyeong was finally able to make his way to the bathroom. He took care of his business and washed his hands thoroughly, and when he came back out, someone was standing there waiting in front of him. He startled and looked up — and the person standing there was none other than the head manager from earlier.
