“Why are you shouldering this alone? I know Baek Yeonjun is a good person. But still, this……”
“Executive Director. May I say something?”
Beomwook gave a small nod. There was something in Yeonjun’s gentle voice that made it impossible to refuse.
“I’m not a good person. If something’s not okay, I know how to say it’s not okay — I’m perfectly capable of saying no. But I don’t believe any of it. So it’s fine. It’s all just ridiculous smear trash…. I don’t believe what’s being said about me, and I don’t believe the rumors tied to you, Executive Director. That’s enough. That’s why I’m okay.”
Is he really okay? Is it all a lie? And — am I allowed to feel relieved by him saying he’s fine? Do I even have the right to?
Through the torrent of questions, a pale face pressed its way forward — and Beomwook finally squeezed his eyes shut.
Beomwook processed a forced leave of absence for Choi Myeongjin. His child — born of his first love, the woman he’d married — had come into the world only a few weeks prior. Watching Myeongjin unable to even properly visit the hospital because he was busy cleaning up the mess left by Beomwook’s own broken engagement, Beomwook had ordered him not to come into the office for at least a month.
Under normal circumstances, a replacement would have been needed to cover for Myeongjin — but Beomwook declined that option. Choi Myeongjin was not a simple secretary, and handing even a few weeks of his duties to someone else felt unreliable in too many ways. Instead, he and Myeongjin reached a compromise: reinforcing the team with security personnel Beomwook had trusted since his Beomsanpa days.
In any case, the work leading up to the finalization of the merger had to be handled by Do Beomryeol himself, the principal party — so the most pressing fire had been put out. Problems continued to surface, but they were the kind Beomwook could handle on his own. He ended yet another persistent call from Choi Myeongjin and started the car.
Just then, a buzz came from inside the pocket of his suit. It was his personal phone — the one he’d started carrying everywhere since meeting Baek Yeonjun. It had to be Choi Myeongjin. Forced into leave, Myeongjin kept trying to reach Beomwook, and Beomwook had been consistently ignoring him, telling him not to think about work for now. It seemed Myeongjin had resorted to trying his personal number as a last resort. Intending to ignore it, Beomwook pressed the accelerator and pulled out of the parking garage.
Buzz — buzz —
He stopped at a red light, and the phone started again. Now properly irritated, Beomwook scowled and reached into his suit. Just rest, would you. The look on his sister-in-law’s face when he’d stopped briefly at the hospital to congratulate Myeongjin on the birth — it had been nothing short of terrifying. She’d thanked him for coming, but her eyes had been full of murder. Remembering that, Beomwook pulled out the phone quickly.
[Baek Yeonjun] 3 missed calls
The expression on Beomwook’s face went flat and hard. It wasn’t Choi Myeongjin — the calls had come from Baek Yeonjun. By the time he looked, the count had updated to four missed calls. Beomwook let out a short exhale.
The truth was, ever since the moment Yeonjun had tried to reassure him that he was fine, Beomwook had been deliberately keeping his distance. But Yeonjun — who had gone ahead and installed the messenger app on Beomwook’s phone himself — had been sending messages whenever he had a spare moment. Every message came with a little puppy emoji that looked uncannily like Yeonjun himself.
[Executive Director. Have you had dinner?]
[Are you busy again today, Executive Director?]
There were check-ins and casual greetings — and also:
[You haven’t been abroad this whole time, right? ㅜㅜ]
[ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ Is something wrong?]
Worry directed at Beomwook for being so difficult to reach — and also:
[If there’s something I’ve done to upset you, would you be willing to tell me….]
[I said I was fine because I really am, but if I made a mistake somewhere, I’m sorry..]
Messages that held both quiet reproach and self-reproach at once.
Part of why Beomwook had been avoiding Yeonjun’s messages was genuinely being too busy to check them in time — but the bigger part was a resolve he’d made to himself: he didn’t need to keep being available to Yeonjun.
Casually keeping in touch with people was second nature to someone like Yeonjun — but to Beomwook, it was nothing more than unnecessary time spent. Eventually, they would return to what they had always been — two people who had never existed in each other’s worlds. Even if right now it sat uneasily in his chest, even if his mind kept circling back to it — letting this connection continue wasn’t something he thought was wise.
Then Yeonjun called again. Beomwook stared at the name on the screen, [Baek Yeonjun], turning it over like a word he was committing to memory. Why the sudden string of calls. He pulled to the side of the road, sat with it for a brief moment — then brought the phone to his ear.
“…Yes.”
— Huh? Oh, wait, really — is this the Executive Director?
“Yes, it’s me. Yeonjun.”
It had been a while since he’d heard Yeonjun’s voice. It was still soft, still gentle. With a slight tremor of surprise woven through it, though.
— Have you been abroad this whole time, not in Seoul?
“I’ve been in Seoul the whole time.”
— Oh. Then why have you not been contac…….
“……”
— No, no, never mind. Executive Director, are you heading to work right now?
“I’m on my way in now. Yeonjun — is something wrong?”
The grip on his steering wheel tightened. Through the call, Yeonjun’s voice had gone very, very quiet.
“…Yeonjun. I’m asking again. Is something wrong?”
After a brief silence, a low, subdued voice came through and touched his ear.
— Yeah……
“Tell me what it is. I’ll sort it out immediately.”
This was someone who had insisted he was fine even while surrounded by bottomless, ugly rumors about himself. For him to suddenly call like this, urgently reaching out for help — something serious had clearly happened. His patience was wearing thin, and Beomwook was pressing his lips together — when:
— Um…. Could you check whether there’s a USB drive in the passenger seat? I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, Executive Director.
Yeonjun’s voice came through. And the request was utterly absurd. Beomwook, who had been gripping his phone with a grave expression, felt the tension deflate — and let out a small, helpless laugh.
What on earth….
“…That’s really all this is?”
— Yes, yes. I know you’re upset with me, Executive Director, but…. I’m sorry. I think I dropped my USB in your car.
He ducked down to look beneath the passenger seat — and there it was, a small black USB drive. Beomwook picked it up. But why had it ended up in his car? And there was something off about what Yeonjun had said. He wasn’t angry with him. He had been avoiding his messages — that was true — but he didn’t want Yeonjun drawing the wrong conclusions on his own.
“It’s here. Found it.”
— Oh, thank goodness! Executive Director. Thank you, truly, thank you so much. My friend’s thesis data is on that. Oh, I can breathe again. Executive Director, I really mean it, thank you.
“But why — why is something of yours in my car, Yeonjun?”
— It’s just that…. A few days ago I went to my place for a bit with Secretary Choi. I think it probably fell out of my bag then.
Come to think of it, Choi Myeongjin had mentioned something similar. Beomwook readjusted his grip on the phone and asked.
“What should I do with the USB? It seems urgent — can you come to me?”
— Oh, you’re near the office right now… it would take about an hour, no, maybe two hours from here…. Just a moment, Executive Director!
Yeonjun’s voice came through, clearly flustered. Judging by the situation, this was genuinely urgent. Beomwook glanced at the time, slipped the USB into his pocket, and spoke.
“Never mind. I’ll come to your school right now.”
“Yeonjun. I’m almost there. Where should I go?”
— Executive Director. There’s a convenience store just before the main gate. If you come near there, I’ll come find you right away.
Beomwook let out a long breath as the gates of Hanguk University came into view ahead. He had no idea what had possessed him — stopping mid-commute to drive all the way to Yeonjun’s school. Here he’d been cutting Yeonjun off so cleanly it might have seemed cruel — and then one unfamiliar, flustered, urgent voice, and he’d gone and done something completely out of character.
Had it really been almost five years. Beomwook took it slowly, noting how familiar and yet how changed everything around here looked. Soon, the convenience store Yeonjun had mentioned came into view. It was a little ways from the main gate — fortunately, not many students around. Beomwook pulled over to the side of the road, killed the engine completely, and waited.
…Tap tap.
Before long, a figure appeared at the passenger-side window and knocked. At the faint outline of Yeonjun coming into view, Beomwook felt his body tense up without meaning to.
“Executive Director. Hello.”
