The next day, Secretary Ju arrived at work and was startled enough to check her wristwatch first thing. It was clearly early — before work hours even started. She was definitely not late — and yet her superior was already there in the office.
Though “already there” didn’t quite seem like the right phrase. He was wearing the same clothes as yesterday, and the blank, glazed look on his face as he sat in his chair suggested something was off. He looked vaguely dazed, and considerably displeased. What was certain was that his current state was very… bad. On top of that, the inside of the office was a complete wreck. Documents were scattered all over the floor and an empty liquor bottle lay tipped over on the guest table.
We’re screwed. If anyone else caught sight of this, it would be grounds for criticism — Secretary Ju quietly cursed under her breath and lowered her eyes with a pained expression. If someone found out and word got around that the Managing Director had been drinking and getting blind drunk in the office, it would be her own fault for failing to attend to him properly.
She couldn’t afford to leave that kind of stain on her career, so Secretary Ju knocked carefully on the office door and slipped inside.
“G-good morning. Managing Director.”
She offered a polite morning greeting as a matter of courtesy, but was completely ignored. She had adapted to that kind of response within twenty-four hours of starting to serve under him.
Ignored or not, Secretary Ju moved quickly to clear the liquor bottle from the table. But wait — the cleaning was supposed to have been done last night, so why was the place this messy? The biggest perk of working at this company was its cleanliness standards, which made the current state of the room all the more baffling.
But there was no time to be confused — that was a secondary concern. Secretary Ju focused back on her task and quietly slipped the bottle into the recycling bag she had brought with her. And then.
“Damn it, I can’t make sense of it.”
Lost in his own thoughts, Haejeong spoke out of nowhere. His gaze was pointed elsewhere, so it didn’t seem to be directed at Secretary Ju. Just as she was trying to wrap up quickly and get out, Haejeong spoke again.
“Secretary Jo.”
…She was Secretary Ju, but Secretary Ju didn’t bother correcting him.
“Yes, Managing Director.”
“Secretary Jo’s probability was wrong.”
When she looked directly into his face, Secretary Ju took back everything she’d thought earlier. Her superior didn’t just look fairly bad — he looked catastrophically, devastatingly, terribly bad. So much so that it almost felt like a dark energy was seeping off of him.
“…Wh-what do you mean by that…”
Haejeong said nothing further after raising the subject himself. Then, with one hand, he snapped the pen he’d been holding idly in two. At the bone-chilling crack, Secretary Ju straightened sharply, every muscle tense. But with Haejeong sitting in silence for a long stretch without saying anything more, Secretary Ju crept out of the office without making a single sound.
Not sparing a thought for whether the employee had left or not, Haejeong continued staring at the glass window with that dissatisfied look. And simultaneously, the conversation he’d had with Munyeong the night before — last night, when nothing but the dark night sky had been visible beyond the window — kept replaying in his mind.
“Don’t tell me you still like me, Im Munyeong?”
Having finally gotten the words out, Haejeong had been laughing with pure self-satisfaction. He’d asked it himself, and yet the answer had felt so obvious he’d found it laughable.
The one those words had landed on, by contrast, went as pale as a corpse. He’d been so taken aback that he’d gone rigid as stone, and even his breathing had stopped.
“…You remembered?”
Munyeong had asked in a stiff, halting voice, and Haejeong had sunk deeper into his chair and twirled his pen at leisure.
“What do you take me for. Like I’d forget something like that.”
In truth, a person of his standing making the first move to acknowledge it would have looked undignified — so he’d been playing dumb all this time. But watching Munyeong act like he wasn’t pretending not to know had made him feel so stifled inside that it had slipped out before he could stop himself.
“…Then why did you keep pretending not to know…?”
“And why should I have acknowledged it?”
“…….”
“You hid it first. Your identity.”
That wasn’t wrong. But there was a difference between not knowing and knowing and choosing to pretend otherwise. It struck Munyeong for a moment that Haejeong had known all along — had watched him all this time as he concealed it, pretended not to know, and groveled because he was his superior — and it made him feel, just briefly, a little resentful.
“You’re the one who knew everything and still got hired here, aren’t you?”
He pushed it a step further. Munyeong stared at him with a bewildered expression that said what on earth are you talking about.
“I’m asking if you knew I was this company’s son before you took the job.”
“…….”
“On the off chance you might run into me.”
He asked with an arrogant look, spinning the pen in one hand. His expression was thick with low, petty interest. He was meanly poking at a confession and feelings that were over ten years old.
“…I didn’t do anything like that.”
“Saying no with words doesn’t count for much.”
“……I mean it.”
Munyeong met Haejeong’s gaze squarely, his face open and guiltless. The firm, pressed-together set of his lips came into Haejeong’s view. He wasn’t the type to be easily swayed just because someone was being earnest.
“Then — that’s not it either?”
Haejeong drew up the corner of his mouth and asked in a provocative way. A mischievous look, as if he already knew the answer. But Munyeong stared back at him with an expression of genuine incomprehension, his gaze slightly vacant. Haejeong narrowed his eyes at that foolish look for a moment, then opened his mouth again.
“Still liking me.”
“…….”
“Go on, try telling me that’s not it either.”
He said it in that underhanded way of his, sizing Munyeong up as if daring him to wriggle out of it — and Munyeong, unlike the flustered state he’d been in up to this point, let out a short, composed exhale with a calm expression. Then he answered quietly.
“…No.”
There was no tension in it, no flustered stumbling. The gaze that looked back at him was steady and unhurried, carrying a quiet gravity. The triumphant expression Haejeong had been wearing just moments ago developed a small, almost imperceptible crack. He’d instinctively opened his mouth to argue back — but the other person was faster by half a step.
“I’m old enough now to know my own limits.”
Munyeong continued in a calm, even voice.
“……I don’t like you the way I used to. Out of my depth, like I was back then.”
He even let out a thin, self-deprecating laugh, as if the very idea were absurd. The sneer that had been fixed on Haejeong’s face slowly, gradually hardened into something else.
“You don’t…?”
Haejeong asked again, as if in a daze. And the other person nodded with a frank, unashamed face. Those distinctively clear eyes, without a single shade of dishonest guile in them, didn’t waver even a fraction.
“…It’s been over ten years, after all.”
“…….”
“……There’s no way I’d still feel that way.”
And with that, he cut it off.
The delusion Haejeong had been nurturing alone — cut off at the root.
**
Haejeong had turned that conversation over and over in his mind, and ended up staying awake through the night. He’d found the stash of liquor he kept hidden and knocked it back until at some point it was morning. Having a certainty he’d been so sure of turn out to be completely wrong had made that stiff pride of his crumple entirely.
Of all things. Looking me dead in the eye and saying no.
But… why?
Haejeong hurled the broken pen straight at the wall. Having his pride crumpled like this was a first in his life. There was no way it was a no. Im Munyeong hadn’t changed from then to now. The pushover tendencies, accepting every harsh thing said to him without protest, the small kindnesses and goodwill he’d extended toward him — all of it. All exactly the same as before. And yet it’s a no now? It’s wrong? It’s different?
Haejeong kicked the desk leg again and again, seething with frustration. His tantrum was bad enough that the staff sitting at their desks outside were startled into stealing glances. Two desk employees exchanged looks that clearly said what’s wrong with him now.
Not satisfied with just slamming the desk, he grabbed everything off the bookshelf and flung it around indiscriminately, then swept both arms across his desk and sent everything on it crashing to the floor. A thunderous racket erupted through the space — but outside the office, not a single person acknowledged it. Everyone kept their eyes to themselves, pretending not to hear a thing. And simply came to the realization that the rumors about him circulating through the company were very much true.
