“Come running the moment I call.”
“…….”
“As for Manager Jo — no, wait. I’ll speak to him separately, so you don’t need to worry about what he thinks.”
I wonder why he’s going this far, Munyeong thought suddenly.
He stood there watching Yeon Haejeong get into the car ahead of him, a strange feeling settling over him. It felt as though Yeon Haejeong… already knew him. As if he had, in fact, recognized him long before now. As if they were both pretending not to know each other while already knowing full well that they did. What Yeon Haejeong trusted wasn’t some stranger called Im Sunyeong — it was the Im Munyeong from their school days, the one they had known, the one they had been closer to.
But Munyeong quickly shook the thought loose, loaded the armful of shopping bags into the trunk, and made his way to the driver’s seat. There was no way Yeon Haejeong had been holding onto memories of him all this time. Munyeong hadn’t wanted that, either.
He turned the wheel toward the destination Yeon Haejeong had given him. A sigh slipped out of him, more like a quiet lament, lips pressing together without a sound. Then again — who could have ever broken that stubbornness? It was a stubbornness no one had managed to crack even back in high school. And now their positions were worlds apart, which made it all the more impossible. Munyeong swallowed down the unsettled feeling in his chest and turned his focus back to the road.
The place they arrived at was a large, upscale Korean traditional cuisine restaurant located in the heart of Seoul. It was the kind of establishment that made an impression from the moment you stepped through the entrance — the grounds were wide, and the traditional-style building constructed within them was striking. Staff dressed in hanbok were lined up at the entrance to receive guests, and the parking lot in front of the building was filled with the same class of foreign luxury cars as the one Yeon Haejeong rode in.
As Yeon Haejeong stepped out from the back seat, the back doors of several other sedans that had apparently arrived at the same time swung open to reveal young men in tailored suits.
They carried the same air of effortless refinement as Yeon Haejeong. Each wore a gleaming watch on one wrist, shirts buttoned with ascetic precision, tie pins perfectly set. They were all impeccably dressed, and yet the atmosphere among them was loose and easy. Everyone recognized one another at a glance, exchanging warm looks and light greetings.
“Hey, Yeon Haejeong. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
The man nearest to him threw a familiar arm around Yeon Haejeong’s shoulder. Yeon Haejeong’s brow furrowed with obvious displeasure, but the man didn’t seem to care in the slightest.
“The way you were acting, I thought you’d sworn never to set foot in Korea again.”
It wasn’t only men. Women in equally polished suits emerged from the back seats of other cars as well, each accompanied by a secretary trailing close behind.
“It wasn’t that I didn’t want to come back — I couldn’t.”
Yeon Haejeong corrected him.
“You had no intention of joining the head office.”
“They basically held it over my head — told me coming back to Korea meant joining the head office.”
While keeping up the private conversation with the people around him, Yeon Haejeong glanced briefly at Im Munyeong. Munyeong, not catching the meaning of that look, stood still by the car — and Yeon Haejeong, who had already started walking ahead, stopped and turned back.
“Go get something to eat.”
He gave a light nod toward the restaurant staff who had been stationed to escort the secretaries separately, and added casually:
“Since when do you look after your staff’s meals?”
Those nearby followed his gaze, and at his remark someone laughed, teasing.
“Isn’t it just basic courtesy, as someone in a senior position?”
Yeon Haejeong answered the man’s question in his usual unaffected way and followed the staff member dressed in the most elaborate hanbok inside. So it wasn’t an outside work appointment — it was a private gathering. Munyeong watched their retreating figures with a faraway feeling. They were simply wearing suits, and yet they seemed to glow with something. Though they were in the same space, the air they carried made it feel as though they existed somewhere entirely different. As Munyeong stared after them with a dazed expression, one of the people who appeared to be another secretary leaned over quietly.
“Aren’t you coming?”
Four or five secretaries were being guided by the staff to a separate area. It seemed they were being taken care of separately from the main party.
“Oh — yes.”
Munyeong gave a small, polite bow and followed along. As if to prove they belonged to entirely different worlds, the path he was led down went in the exact opposite direction.
The room they were brought to was a quiet, private dining room. The restaurant’s traditional aesthetic extended all the way to its interior details. Ornate cushion seats wrapped in fine silk, the natural warmth of solid wood — every element had been thoughtfully arranged to reinforce the restaurant’s concept. One wall was graced with a formal folding screen, and beside it, exquisite ceramic pieces were displayed like artworks.
“It’ll take a while, won’t it?”
One of the secretaries seated at the table checked his wristwatch and asked politely. His tone was composed, the manner of someone thoroughly accustomed to situations like this.
“You know how it is with these gatherings.”
A female secretary wearing glasses answered crisply.
“I know, but surely not starting from this early in the day….”
Another staff member’s voice trailed off with skepticism, but the expressions around the table were placid — as though the ‘surely not’ was, in fact, exactly the case. Munyeong was the only one who had no idea what they were talking about.
While he sat there puzzled, the hanbok-clad staff began bringing out the food. A double-sectioned grill was set up first, followed by neatly plated dishes arranged with immaculate precision — every item placed as though it had an assigned coordinate. The restaurant staff who took positions beside the table then seemed to erase their own presence entirely, quietly laying cuts of glossy, glistening meat onto the grill one piece at a time. It was Korean beef — a vivid, deep red, with fine marbling running throughout. What made this restaurant’s beef exceptional was that it was raised and butchered entirely on-site.
“The smell alone is absolutely insane.”
The youngest-looking secretary swallowed and murmured.
“I heard you can’t even make a reservation here unless you know the right people.”
Another, who looked equally new to the job, asked with wide eyes. The more seasoned secretaries kept their comments to themselves.
“The price alone puts it out of reach for most people.”
“Still, I didn’t expect them to actually take care of the staff too.”
“I’d rather skip the fancy meals and have them respect my off-hours.”
They seemed to have gotten loosely acquainted over the course of a few gatherings like this — the conversation flowed without too much stiffness.
“Looks like clocking out on time is off the table again today, doesn’t it?”
The quiet observation was met with a wave of silent, resigned nods from nearly everyone.
Munyeong had no way to join the conversation — and no particular desire to. He sat quietly.
“Oh, right — whatever happened with that piece that came out about Dowon Industries?”
“Are you talking about the government sanctions?”
“Yes. There’s been a lot of chatter. Something about the Japan export deal.”
“The government won’t approve it too quickly — too much backlash. They’re just putting on a show for now.”
“That makes sense. Their director didn’t look the least bit worried.”
“That man was born without a worry in the world.”
“True enough — he’s always been incredibly easygoing.”
Who was being talked about, or what the situation was — Munyeong couldn’t piece together a single thread of it. This gathering seemed to meet regularly; the secretaries were trading updates on each other’s worlds with easy familiarity.
“By the way, I don’t think we’ve met before.”
The man who had been steering the conversation the most glanced over at Munyeong. Just as Munyeong was carefully lifting a piece of meat to his mouth, the sudden weight of attention made him tense — and he quietly set his utensils back down.
“…Oh, yes.”
“You’re Executive Director Yeon’s secretary, aren’t you?”
Someone had clearly seen him step out of Yeon Haejeong’s car.
Calling himself a secretary felt a little too grand for what he actually did, and Munyeong answered with a quiet, slightly self-conscious air.
“…I assist Executive Director Yeon.”
“That’s quite something.”
“I’m Kim Jongsu — I serve the director at Daemyung Construction.”
The moment the words ‘Executive Director Yeon’ left his mouth, everyone at the table straightened up at once, reached into their breast pockets, and extended name card cases toward Munyeong.
“I’m Ju Hyeonji — I serve the director at Park Royal Hotel.”
The other secretaries followed in turn, introducing themselves and handing over their cards. Munyeong hesitated, unsure what to do as business cards came flying at him from every direction. But lingering like that felt rude, so he bowed his head and accepted each card as he quietly added:
“I’m afraid… I don’t have a card of my own….”
